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File 157220461985.jpg - (346.33KB, 1000x1400, 76190385_p0.jpg) [iqdb]
39853No. 39853
It is, sometimes, to the point to celebrate humanity’s less industrious underside. And here, he thought, on the doorstep of the Hieda household – at the heart of the so-called Human Village – was this notion at its most pointed.

A man in his ripe twenties, clad in no-nonsense Winter hanten and trousers, the messenger had little issue gliding past the attention of servants milling about the estate yard. No one liked a messenger; least liked all were those liable to cut their own work short and dragoon the first retainer to make eye contact into running the final stretch. On nothing but a caprice, he tore off a salute at a nearby worker, to see the man all but duck out of the way. It was a superpower in everything except the name, and no Spellcard duel between Gensokyo’s fireball ladies may diminish the messenger’s pride in his own, secret little spell.

And, as is with most underhanded superpowers, his, too, was a double-edged sword. As a wise man had once been quoted, mis-quoted, and then paraphrased, couriers and runners would always have a use, regardless of when and where, because, “there will always be folks who will pay someone else to do the trivial things they could do themselves, but cannot be arsed to do.” It was this bit of tacit hypocrisy, after all, which allowed messengers like him their little niche in the town in the first place… and then, in an ironic turn, to bully menials from other social strata to step aside.

As long as he looked pregnant enough with responsibility, he could strut inside the noble Hieda household unchallenged by anyone with better things (not) to do.

Which, rather promptly, he did. Gensokyo’s cold season was no laughing matter; the mountainous, inland climate could hang icicles from a man’s brow if it caught him running too hard. Nor was this stranger to the Hieda, who kept the straw, clay and lath walls of their manor heated to cosy coat-off degrees. More inarguably occupied servants passed the messenger by while he plied the pristine halls, as soon to interfere with his work as to pull a hakutaku’s tail. Whenever none were in said passage, he skidded along on the polished cedar floor in childlike glee. The Hieda must have crooked the backs of many a man and woman to achieve such perfect sheen; and, the fun of it aside, it did the soul good to every now and then appreciate other people’s sacrifice. There was even a word for it. Schadenfreude, or something.

In a few, brief, and somewhat enjoyable moments, he slewed to a halt before a door he knew by both heart and wallet – bearing the Gensokyan character for “enquirers” calligraphed onto a rice paper scroll. He rapped the accustomed sequence of knock, knock-knock on the door’s varnished frame: a secret code – not quite Morse, but the next most concise thing – for, “Hey. Here I am. Would love to come in, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

He waited the appropriate window for the person beyond to think, “Hey. Here he is.” And then – to call out, in a prickly, feminine voice,

“Come in, already! If it isn’t too much trouble!”

Smiling his least troubled, the messenger slid the door aside – and came in.

At first sight, the room within would have seemed as any other office: sheaves of papers spread, in a loose semblance of order, across a number of tables and most other free vertical space. At another, a discerning messenger may mark out what set it apart from all similar others.

Among the bureaucratic build-up, at the most laden of the tables, smack dab between two tottering stacks of documents, a young noblewoman sat with her nose wrinkled by frustration. A slight, teenage thing, bundled inside a loose, flowery kimono, a stander-by who knew no better may think her out of place in a world of pure numbers and figures; yet, the preternatural, nigh-on eidetic memory, which Akyuu of the Hieda clan famously boasted, made her the undisputed queen of the realm. The Hieda, while nowhere so key as Gensokyo’s more worked families – the Itou, or the Toorima, to name but these – had their own trade to ply day to day, which had earned them a wealth of influence in the human town. And theirs, plainly, was just that. Trade.

As clerks and delegates, commissioners and proxies, the Hieda had made themselves essential to operations far and above the scope of a clan of pure bureaucrats. And young lady Akyuu, who would have been a mere display piece if she had been born to any other clans-head, was too able of a push-quill to let rot under a coat of make-up and jewellery. Although, not to take away from her now, the large, ornate brooch clipped to the side of her hair left no doubt as to the size of her eventual dowry.

Neither was the squint of her clever, violet eyes anything short of queenly when she spared the messenger an annoyed peer.

“… Gin,” she sighed, casting down again at the opened file on the table almost at once. “Good day, I suppose.”

“Young mistress Akyuu,” returned the messenger. “It has found me decent thus far.”

The small noblewoman gave him a dismissive wave of the quill. “Close the door, will you please? You are letting cold in.”

Gin Akamatsu, a runner for the Hieda clan since years and one of lady Akyuu’s troupe of errand boys, dutifully shut the door behind. A moment hence, and the office’s ambient air closed in around him: stuffy, warm, fraught with the scents of old scrolls, inksticks and the floral perfume worn by its noble occupant. There was a general impression of calm implacability about the place: a sort of peaceful cruelty which promised a lot of incensed shouting in the future, but not now and not anyplace near. And there, at its far end, a girl no older than sixteen, whose hand ruled the work-day for men and women all over town.

Gin contrived to look challenged as he negotiated the cluttered office floor, and was almost wounded when Akyuu graced his antics with none of the usual mock-exasperation. That lost him several ounces of good humour. Needling the young mistress was a high priority for any retainer, most of all ones who seldom stayed around long enough to suffer the consequences. Arriving at Akyuu’s desk, yet receiving none of her customary sass, near boiled over Gin’s bubbly spirit.

“Am I so late, young mistress?” he asked.

Akyuu refused to so much as glance away from her work this time. “… No,” she murmured back. “Why?”

Gin scrunched up his best wit. “Well, mistress, you sound more nettled than a rutting tanuki, for one.”

Akyuu’s quill froze mid-stroke. Her head snapped up to give the messenger a narrow, violet stare. “… What?”

“Mind, I didn’t even stop to get you flowers today,” Gin complained. Then feigned a revelation. “Ah! Could that be it? No flowers to smooth over the mood? Apologies, young mistress; I shall away to fetch an armful of freshly cut lilies at once.”

Akyuu’s replying eye-roll was cute, but unimpressed. “Gin Akamatsu,” she retorted, “if you had not been with the clan since I was little, I would have long fed you to my horse. Additionally, those flowers you bury me under? I pass those to the cooking girls. Apologise to them, not me. I wager they shall be crushed by this lapse.”

Gin’s face split wide with a grin which, through osmotic psychology, caused the edges of lady Akyuu’s lips to curl up in synchrony. What a smile that girl had. Gin would have run a marathon across Gensokyo to watch it all day, and would have gone as far as the flower stand a couple streets over for a few minutes. Akyuu awarded him a few heartbeats, which was already a bargain. Whatever was souring the young lady’s disposition was a stronger seasoning by half than the treacle of banter with a well-liked subordinate. It had to be, because Gin had it on telling experience that lady Akyuu was already sweeter on him than any other runner under her employ. Telling experience.

Gin tied it down, lest it up and very well run away with his imagination. Confidence, all the same, was a welcome feeling – even if it was a bit foxed by the young lady’s smile melting away like snowflakes from his coat minutes ago.

“All that flowery nonsense aside,” Akyuu confessed, “I am, indeed, a little nettled. One of your colleagues came up lame, see, and we are woefully short some legs.”

“I have those,” pointed out Gin. “A full set, even.”

Akyuu sketched a sagely nod. “Yes, yes. And a clever mouth I wish nothing less than stuffed full of tofu and left out at night for stray kitsune. Your area’s your own, Gin,” she sighed; “his assignments will have to be doled out among other runners, and they are not the sort you would call ‘fast and easy’ most days of the year. I anticipate none of it. Actually, I have but one ‘fast and easy’ type today, so you had best take it off my hands before someone else does.”

“I had best, then,” agreed Gin. “Heave me at it.”

“The soundest thing I heard all morning,” she admitted.

The young lady of the Hieda made to rise from her desk, extending out a hand that would have been white and regal if it had not been thin and stained with ink. Gin took it in his, squeezing the stiff fingers, and aiding his dainty employer to her feet. And though he was by no measure a giant, there was the sudden unsteadiness in his grip of someone who had picked up something incredibly precious, and hadn’t enough savings to cover the potential damages. Only the same, tied-up memory as before reminded Gin that the little lady Hieda was still, in spite of her frailty, a woman who had taken studies of all sides of man – with especial attention to how to wrap him around her little finger. A knot was loosed on the memory by the wash of lady Akyuu’s floral perfume as she tugged her palm free and swished by the messenger’s side for something behind him.

And then, it burst free at the sight of her cute, kimono-wrapped butt being thrust in the air when she bent down to gather up a sheaf of invoices from the floor.
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>>No. 39854
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Gin, the lowly messenger, stared at the young noblewoman’s presented rear. He hadn’t at all to conjecture how it would atop his commoner lap – because he knew exactly how. He hadn’t to speculate what it would feel like to have those smooth buttocks slide, in shameless nude, back and forth on his bare thighs – because mistress Akyuu had shown him exactly what, a night not a fortnight before… when she had used his natural abilities as a man to scratch a really itchy spot deep inside her belly.

Unreal. This was the best descriptor for that night, because there was indeed something unreal about a girl whom Gin had watched grow above waist-level, then plump out in all the customary places, happily committing sloppy, premarital sex with him on the office floor. All too easy, the particulars of that age-induced tragedy came rushing back. A long day and an even lengthier shift, the tail end of which had left Gin loafing about the office awaiting his pay-out – while the industrious young woman pored over a veritable tower of end-of-the-month figures for the estate’s personnel. Gin of then did not too much begrudge the delay; Akyuu’s workplace was anyhow warmer than the town’s communal housing where he came to anchor each night, and loitering around nobility by itself had a certain braggartly shine which the messenger found singularly gratifying.

It did, all the same, sting somewhat once Akyuu stamped the final document, wiped her hands, stood, and curtly announced she had no money for him.

“I can ill recall,” she argued when pressured, “ever confessing I had it, in the first place. And it is way too late to bother our treasurer now. What is it, after midnight? You should have asked, Gin. I was right here.”

“Ah, but you were having such fun!” snapped Gin, bitterness briefly gelling over his buoyant soul. “What did you reckon I was waiting around for, young mistress? Witching hours?”

Akyuu folded her arms, in their rolled-up sleeves, under her chest. “I reckon,” she aped his tart tone, “that I boss you enough on the job. What you do off of it – is none of my beeswax. Wait around, if and where you please. Official excuses besides, it’s not like I mind having you here.”

“Well, I—!” Gin launched off… but found the unexpected acceptance to have stolen his secondary thrusters. Akyuu’s tired, innocent face compounded gravity; and, together, they dragged his rising temper down to ground level. “… Argh, pooped,” he groaned his formal surrender. “I can’t rightly win with you, can I? And here I was bent on getting pissed as an Oni in a wine vat tonight.”

Akyuu’s lips shaped a wan smile. “Sorry?”

“Never you mind,” wheezed Gin, sprawling on a clear stretch of the straw-mat floor. “All in all, you have the right. It’s all on me. I’ll swing by on the morrow, and wrest my demons on my own tonight.”

Akyuu forbore to comment, hovering over him with the faint expression of a woman whose secret shame had been brought too close the skin of her conscience. Gin skewed a dejected smile at the overworked young mistress, and felt a rush of rather inappropriate emotions when she returned it – drawing a lock of her silky hair behind an ear. Shivering candlelight played along the golden leaves of her brooch and that half of her cute, barely matured face.

Under some old, inconspicuous carpet, deep in the basement of his heart, Gin had stored the written confession that a large part of him was in love with the young lady. It could well have been the whole of him. And now, he found his attention sticking to her features. Akyuu… no, young mistress Akyuu, may be of age and in eminence in the household currently; and yet, one may hardly forget the tiny, resolute girl who went about ordering the staff in a squeaky, if eerily close, impression of her late grandmother’s voice.

Against his sincerest wishes to treasure that version of Akyuu forever, his fatigued mind clung to quite different details now. Those coy, carefully rouged lips. Those slight shoulders. Those slim arms, that made you want to keep them away from anything heavy. The outline of Akyuu’s modest, but unmistakeable bust, beneath the layers of bright kimono. And those hips that could cause a pile-up on the town’s main thoroughfare.

Mouth drying, Gin lashed his eyes back up to Akyuu’s face. Akyuu, if she had caught, or minded, his ogling, admitted to neither.

At length, some ruling was made in the brilliant palace of her mind, and urged the young mistress on to speak out.

“… Gin Akamatsu?” she addressed him. “Will you take an advance… in nature?”

Gin blinked. “In… er, what?”

Lady Akyuu rolled her eyes. “Sex,” she said. “I am asking if you want to have sex, as an advance on your wages.”

Gin Akamatsu swallowed his suddenly evacuating heart back down, and examined the girl who would attempt to eviscerate him with sheer words. Akyuu’s face was a museum-perfect piece on how to blend royal composure with a dash of smugness. Someplace in a reservoir usually reserved for work, the messenger found in himself the self-control to speak like a professional.

“First of all,” he machinegunned out, “yes, please, would love to, absolutely, thank you. Second of all… Why?”

Akyuu’s expression shifted farther to the smugger side. She switched on her feet, the bottom edge of the kimono brushing her bare ankles. “First of all,” she teased him, “I do feel put out, letting you go unrewarded tonight. Second of all… I like you, Gin. And I have it on a whole case of evidence you do not hate me, either.”

Gin pulled a tragic face. “Can I see that case? And burn it?”

Akyuu smiled at the roundabout confession. “Third of all, though… I am somewhat at my limit, myself.”

“At your…?”

“You are a big and lettered boy, so I shall tell you outright. I have been hornier than a Celestial maiden all day today. My period is in two weeks or so, and this is when I am at my most… restless.” There was a slanted, expectant look. “… You do know what a period is, yes?”

Gin considered pretending a lapse of memory – then, pretended not having considered it at all. “Yes. Yes, I know. Your head maid poured that bucket of ice-water on me when you were in absentia, once. It was a deep bucket,” he added.

“Vivi did?” Akyuu’s eyes betrayed a touch of amused surprise. “That starch-butt? Would you fancy that… At any rate, other than, ah, seeing red, this is the worst time for me. Sometimes, I have to take twice as long to do the same columns because my thoughts keep… leaping. If you had not been fluttering around here like an early moth, Gin,” she confided, archly, “then I would have long before taken a break and gone to take care of it. As it stands, my underwear may well be ruined. I could hardly even check, because of you.”

“And so, you want me to… take responsibility?”

“Assuming you mean to harry my tailor for a new pair,” countered Akyuu, “then I have plenty other servants to be responsible about it. I want you to go home tonight not feeling indignant over staying so late for no return. And, if I can have my itchy place rubbed a little in the same stroke… then that puts us nicely in cahoots.”

Gin stared, slack-jawed, at the young noblewoman who could, if his ears were to be believed, talk laps around casual, illicit sex.

Akyuu appeared to read the Morse of his thoughts from his eyes. “… Want me to say it filthier?”

Gin swallowed. “… Yeah.”

Akyuu smiled, smug as a cat in a tubful of cream. “… I want to use your hard cock,” she whispered, “to massage my wet, naughty pussy. Want me to fuck you and cream myself on your dick?”

There was a sticky, not-yet-pregnant-but-surely-soon-to-get pause. Then, Gin coughed explosively.

Gods—” he wheezed. “You could destroy a man’s pants with that!”

Akyuu shrugged coquettishly. “Tit for tat.”

Gin could not resist the rib. “What would your head maid do if she heard this sort of verbiage crawling out of your mouth, young mistress?”

“Vivi? Arrange for a dictionary for me to read, like as not. That woman’s mind is stiffer than a… a cock.”

Another potentially expectant pause ensued as Akyuu looked to him for validation.

“Yes, right, jolly,” he obliged. “I do still want to… do all that stuff, though.”

He had to admire the look lady Akyuu gave him. It implied, rather with diplomacy, that any answer to the otherwise would have been met with the swiftest clonk upwise the chin on this side of Gensokyo. He deflected it with a boyish leer of his own. The resulting air of shamelessness had them both smiling just a hue sheepishly.

“Mm, well… I am glad I hadn’t tainted my lips for nothing,” she granted. “Shall we, then? Sit back and undo your belt for me, please. Oh, and will you want me to leave my panties on, or…?”

“Take them off,” Gin replied at once.

Akyuu’s replying smirk told him she was happy to do nothing less. “Someone wants to see as much as he can, hmm? Very good…”

And then, with a graceful, petite motion, she tugged the sash of her kimono loose. And while the complex piece held together even so, it did allow Akyuu to then part her outfit’s ankle-long skirts. A pair of slim, rice-white legs slid into candlelit view, topped by a pair of demurely white panties, stretched across the young woman’s smooth, bare hips. What was less demure was the noticeable, wet stain on their front. Akyuu hadn’t lied; even as she slipped her thumbs under their band and began to pull them down her thighs, a gluey thread strung between the panties and her now-nude crotch.

Gin could catch but a shadow of a neatly trimmed bush, before Akyuu bent forward to guide her unmentionables down to her ankles. Once they reached the floor, she stepped out of them with one foot – and kicked them away with the other.

“Gin?” she called out to the gawping messenger. “Your belt?”

It should be quite difficult for a man to jump a foot into the air while flat on his seat, but not if the man was Gin Akamatsu at that moment. Scrambling up, he ripped the belt out of his trousers, and then skinned them down, underwear and all, down to his knees. Then, he flopped back onto his rear. Akyuu smirked, all good boy-like – shuffled forward – and eased herself down onto Gin’s lap. Gin tensed at the sensation of her bare derriere squishing against his naked thighs. It went further; Akyuu’s derriere was, in fact, soft and nigh-on scalding from hours of use in front of a desk. Amazing though its weight felt atop him, nevertheless, Gin’s eyes were riveted to another of Akyuu’s tactically exposed areas.

As if sensing his scrutiny – or, really, triangulating its overt point – the young lady of the Hieda fanned her legs wider out. All the while, she drew the halves of her robe farther apart – until her cute, plain bellybutton joined the picture. Akyuu’s belly itself was flat and smooth as a baby’s – only swelling slightly with each of her shallow breaths. Soon, and, Gin realised, it would be bulging from something else altogether; it took no great physician to recognise that, what the young mistress was demonstrating to her lowly messenger, was exactly from where and to where his manhood would be travelling inside her, once it was ready.

That it wasn’t, even so, provoked a disappointed hum from Akyuu’s chest.

“… Nervous, are we?” she asked.

“Yeah,” grunted Gin. “… Sort of. I mean, you’re dead sexy, and I want you down on me, but—”

“No, no worries,” Akyuu dismissed his fumbling. “I understand. I sprang this on you a bit out of the blue. We will get this guy up, no problem.”

“Can I, er…” he began, as Akyuu moved. “Can I play with yours, too?”

“Mhm. I think I’d like that.”

That alone drained some of Gin’s blood from his ears and pumped it down where it was needed more. Akyuu gave him an appreciative little “Nn…” when he skimmed a hand up the length of her naked thigh, the muscles beneath her thin, pale skin tensing at the touch. Gin was made to return the wordless compliment when he felt his mistress’s tiny digits wrap around his perking manhood. Akyuu spared it no dignity; she spat into her right hand, peeled the foreskin with the left, and began to rub the slimy inside of her palm on the exposed crown. It gave Gin’s neighbour downstairs plenty of good reasons to quit being uncooperative. An additional one was engendered when his hand arrived at Akyuu’s damp privates.

And they were damp. The prim patch of dark pubes on Akyuu’s groin was soaked with perspiration. Gin had but to sneak his fingers below to find her crotch was no better for wear: her lower lips hot and puffy and smeared all over with warm, sticky arousal. He hadn’t more than to drag his longest finger down the slit in the middle for its tip to part the slippery labia and sink into Akyuu’s hot, eager receptacle. Stomach clenching, lady Akyuu accepted the first and the second knuckles of his finger – tight and defiant at the entrance, but softer and more inviting the deeper in he pushed. Once the finger was in to the root, its whole length was engulfed in hot, cushiony goodness that could only ever feel better around one other part of his body.

Gin and his dick shared a thought. It said: “one finger is fine and dandy, but I will never fit inside if she can’t accommodate two.” Thus and therefore, the astute messenger carefully extracted his middle finger from the young noblewoman’s clinging insides. And then, no sooner than they at last let go, he returned double the amount. Her wonderfully wide hips juddered as her vagina easily swallowed the pair of intruders whole.

An unladylike noise squeezed out of lady Akyuu’s chest, and she gripped his – now fully raised – flagpole in reprisal. “Nnhyou are lucky,” she gasped, “that I came pre-prepared.”

“Sorry,” he started, “was that—”

“No. Goodness, no, I was—” Akyuu seemed flurried for a moment. “… Can I not tease you about this? Or are you the only one allowed to be nervous?”

“Hieda Akyuu? Nervous?” Gin was brimming over with incredulity.

Hieda Akyuu made a toss with her head. “And would you not be?” she returned. Then, realisation dawned. “No. Never mind, do not answer. I will have you know, I am nervous. Hnn. I am the eldest daughter of the household… yet I am about to have sex with a courier. That would make any woman of status… well, at the least giddy. Will you, haah, quit diddling me when I am speaking?”

Gin kept gently poking his middle and ring fingers in and out of her squirming and obviously very pleased vagina. “… No,” he decided.

Scoundrel,” hissed Akyuu. The hiss rounded off to a stifled, horny moan. On the business end of her arm, lady Akyuu’s hand remembered its all-important mission. It snaked around Gin’s full erection, and began to softly glide up and down its length. For the span of uncounted minutes, Akyuu of the Hieda clan dutifully jerked her employee off, while his fingertips searched her vagina end to end for spots which caused her sultry, moaning voice to come out a few notes higher. “… And your, nff, your damn cock,” she panted at length, patience straining; “it’s so damn big, Gin. It even curves. Gods of heaven, if you pushed this in at a good angle… Where do you get off on having such an obscene cock?”

Gin and his cock spoke as one. “Inside you?”

For the skin of a heartbeat, lady Akyuu was startled. Then, her employee’s manhood flexing in her grip reasserted the inevitable. “Nnha. Ha. You are. You are, too. Aren’t you?” A sleazy smile busied her pink lips. “Mmh. You are going to put this brutish thing inside me, yes? You are going to use my naughty pussy to get your rocks off?”

All around Gin’s wriggling fingers, Akyuu’s walls squeezed down with perverse longing. Warm, gooey arousal dribbled between his knuckles. “That—” He choked up at the echo of the young mistress’s voice saying pussy in his head. “… That was the plan, yeah.”

“Then do that,” urged the young mistress. “Take me. Stuff me full. Fuck me. Fuck me.

A thought occurred to Gin that the echoing pussy must have knocked something loose in his skull, because he was suddenly watching himself yank his fingers out of his mistress and make a grab for her butt, quite precluding any conscious clearance. Lady Akyuu, as well, let go of the allegedly grand prize jutting out of his crotch. On her small, delicate knees, exhorted by his hand, the young mistress scuffed forward – until her dripping womanhood was hovering above Gin’s upright, throbbing erection. Gin steadied it by the thick base, while Akyuu reached down to spread her engorged labia.

And then, still goaded by the hand vised around her ass, she lowered her hips.

Gin’s breath hitched when her warm, supple lips slid around and smothered his glans. Above, lady Akyuu switched her fingers to the stiff, prominent nub of her clitoris. There, she began to brush them in tiny, frantic circles, while her fidgeting vagina sank farther down Gin’s penis. It wasn’t two inches deep when Akyuu released a cute squeal, and her body stiffened from neck to toes.

“… Lady Akyuu?” asked Gin.

Lady Akyuu controlled her rebelling body with some effort. “… Nothing. It’s nothing. Haah. A… A suspicion confirmed, that is all.”

“You shouldn’t force yourself,” said Gin’s mouth. A floor down, the head of his dick twitched disagreeably in Akyuu’s snug, wet embrace.

Akyuu brushed him off with a derisive smile. “Say that again when you are up to here,” she challenged, touching an unoccupied hand to her bellybutton.

Then, waiting no return witticism, she resumed screwing her pussy down Gin’s waiting penis. Inch by throbbing inch, her womanhood enveloped the thick, curved shaft, her honeyed walls tensing, then gleefully parting before the chubby glans. Akyuu kept flicking and tapping her swollen clitoris, gasping and moaning sweetly under her breath as the lowly messenger’s hard cock wormed closer and closer to her noble womb. Gin gritted his teeth, in great earnest attempting not to focus on the way her slick, sugary walls hugged around and scrubbed the bare, vulnerable head of his penis.

And then, it happened. Akyuu’s pink, puffy labia came to a weary rest against Gin’s crotch – hilting his sizeable manhood inside her vagina.

Gin threw his head back, a hoarse growl of satisfaction loosed into the office’s night air. That alone was too long to miss out on the indecent spectacle playing out in his lap. Lady Akyuu sat very still, little, white teeth nipping on her bottom lip – as if she were afraid to move while the large, immoderate dick was sheathed so riskily close to her womb. And she was, in happenstance, very right. Stripped first by her soft, elegant hands, then scraped to rawness by the sensual insertion, Gin’s endurance threatened to empty any time soon – and empty his load into Akyuu’s baby room together with. Conscience, somehow, spoke over the pressure of Akyuu’s pussy being applied all over his elated dick. There, stuck pregnable atop it, was the girl whom Gin, a simple messenger, had looked on from afar as she had grown from adorable childhood into modest femininity. And now, that haughty girl, the noble daughter of the Hieda, was about to get her belly pumped full of his peasant spunk. Immoral merely began to describe the crime which Gin was now perpetrating with lady Akyuu’s full, licentious consent.

That quiet connivance was made even firmer when the young noblewoman nudged her hips a little forward, taking his commoner dick that bit deeper into her refined pussy, while her scanty weight shifted pleasantly in his lap. There was an undertone of mock rhetoric in her voice when she spoke up.

“… Comfortable?”

Gin strove not to sound too much like a caveman. “… Never been more. You?”

“A bit full,” admitted lady Akyuu. “Ah, no, no – do not you start, Gin. I love this feeling; I wanted nothing less. I need a moment to adjust, is about all. You are bigger than any of my… um, toys. So hot, too. Hng…” A hint of mischief played with the corners of her lips. “Think you can say it again? That I should not force myself?”

Gin grinned a mite cavemanishly. “Force yourself more, please.”

“In a moment,” she promised. “Meanwhile, have you not something else to say to me?”

“… I really,” blurted out Gin, “really, really want to come inside you, lady Akyuu.”

The replying smile was as indecent as it was fast schooled by the young mistress. “Mm. Yes, well, I rather imagined,” she granted, pushing her hair back behind her ear. “I suppose, since you are already up to here, it would be a waste not to. I would be a poor sport, too, if I said I hadn’t a bit of a thing for, mm… shall we say, risk? And, on that note… Are you very backed up, Gin?”

“… Yeah,” he groaned. “You’ve been rushing me off my feet lately, young mistress. Haven’t really had the head to… er, let off.”

“Then, how about we make this your retribution?” proposed Akyuu. “For being browbeat by the lady, the courier takes his hard cock and unloads all his grievances and pent-up stress into her forbidden womb… Haah. Now there’s an idea I should jot down. Some of my readers would have a field day.

Gin willed his vengeance to remain at room temperature – for now. “What if you—” he began to ask – and stopped. Then, he began to ask anew, because sanity had reared its ugly head and was whaling on his caveman mind with a club. “What if you… er, you know? Get with child? It is your… what do you call it, fruitful day? Isn’t it?”

“Ah, for shame, Gin,” said Akyuu, all arch disenchantment. “Much as you… well, much as you and I would love it, that simply isn’t an option. I am not the healthiest, and flowered very late; untimely childbirth could very well kill me. Not to mention killing you, once my father catches wind of it.”

Gin put on a hanged man’s grimace. “Coming inside is a no go, then?”

Akyuu shook her gorgeous head. “That, I did not say, Gin,” she chided. “See, here. Women like me, of rank, we have our… let us call them, emergency solutions? A morning afterthought, if you will.”

“Some deal of medicine?”

“Yes, you could say. In fact—” Akyuu’s expression sweetened with impishness, “—I so await telling Vivi to get me some tomorrow. The look on her face should be something to write about… At any rate,” she returned to their previous, more pregnant topic, “do feel free to finish inside me. Only, do not expect anything to come of it. You are going to have to find another girl to give you children. Sorry.”

“I am,” Gin sighed, “much disillusioned.”

“Yes, I am acutely aware how crushing it is for you menfolk when a woman tells you she shan’t be carrying your children,” said Akyuu, jaundiced observer of male foibles. “On the bright side, you get to try to make me. And, on that scandalous note… I am good to be tried, now.”
>>No. 39856
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Some gear in Gin’s internal steam engine caught, and linked his brain back to the red-hot piston below his waist. Lady Akyuu’s precious womanhood, having reconciled with the rough treatment, wasn’t crimping his shaft anymore; all down its length, Gin could feel it beset by the soft, feathery heat of the young mistress’s special place. It squeezed and kissed his veiny erection all over when the messenger locked a hand about his lady’s hip, jamming its thumb into the dimple formed seductively between her thigh and overstuffed belly. His purely aesthetic appreciation of her contours was missed by a mile by the horny, petite noblewoman, who took it instead for a cue to dispense with the foreplay – and move on towards their mutually abided, one-night impregnation.

An effort of will later, and her pink, glistening labia were being dragged up his curving length, clinging to every exiting inch – leaving them sticky with love juice and pulsing with the need to get back inside her warm, fertile embrace. There was a precipitous moment, when her pussy lips arrived at Gin’s swollen, throbbing glans, wherein he had to exert every moral fibre in his body so as not to drive lady Akyuu’s hips back down to feel her butt slam into his lap, and her walls clench as they slid down his dick. It was the sight of lady Akyuu lewdly pushing her middle and ring fingers into her mouth – then, reapplying them, slimy with saliva, to her stiff clitoris – that stayed him from no doubt startling his regal little employer half to hysterics.

Oblivious altogether of how close she had come to screaming, Akyuu smiled, as princess-like as befit her station – and then moaned, like a fairy on a sugar high, pinching and rubbing her sensitive nub, while her pussy descended the fat, sloping length of Gin’s dick. In a few jaw-clenching heartbeats, it swallowed him up from tip to root – encouraged the whole way by the young mistress’s furious masturbation. A quick, hasty kiss with her womb, and Gin’s manhood was once more being forcibly extracted from her steamy, squirming depths, leaking beads of milky precum that only joined Akyuu’s sexual fluids in dribbling down his freed length by the end of the up-stroke. The lady and the messenger both voiced their enjoyment in an indecent duet as she began to screw her trembling hips back down the stiff guide. With little in the way of innocence, she angled its bare tip at the same, secret spot it had poked once before. Her walls squeezed down happily when it appeared to hit home.

Gin crushed his unoccupied hand into a fist, with great willpower tearing his focus from where his swollen endowment was vanishing inside his lady’s tight womanhood, up to said lady’s excited face. Akyuu’s was a wilder face than any he had seen in undisclosed dreams: eyes afire with craving, a sloppy grin stuck to her lips, and a warm, rosy blush all over. As Gin’s erection bottomed out, and their groins smacked together, the young lady’s tiny, white teeth briefly clamped down on her bottom lip. Akyuu hissed her raunchy indulgence, her modest chest heaving underneath her clothes.

Without ever soliciting his brain, Gin’s hand climbed from lady Akyuu’s hip, up the front of her kimono, to pull the priggishly tucked halves apart. It was halted fingers away from the goal by one of Akyuu’s own.

“Nn, no!” she snapped. “Hff, bad boy!”

“But I want—” Gin began to protest. Then, words turned a rather complicated thing when the young lady’s crotch was ground into his. “… I want,” he managed to groan, resolutely, nonetheless, “I want to see… your tits, please.”

Akyuu’s neat, purple bangs were shaken left and right. “Nnh, no,” she moaned, somehow imperious even over frenzied arousal, “no, no way. May I remind you, Gin, that this is, hff, an advance on your wages? I am the daughter, nngh, the daughter heiress of the house that pays for your rice and water. Is it not plenty, that you get to fuck—” she stressed the fact by thrusting with her hips, bringing his cock upright in her belly, “—and blow your load inside me? Can you even count, hnn, the number of men who would ride in the tilts for my hand in marriage? To touch me where you are? And this is not enough, still? You are a pair, you and your damn, greedy cock…”

“… Will you let me see, then?” Gin wanted to know.

Akyuu spat a sudden, clipped chuckle. “No! Were you not listening? Sex and not a single nipple. Kissing is off the menu as well, before you unavoidably muse on that recourse.”

“Sex is fine—” Gin frowned, “—yet not kissing?”

“We,” she reminded him, matter-of-factly, “are not lovers, Gin Akamatsu. You are a courier for the clan Hieda, and I am your lady superior; by rights, you are the last person with whom I should be tied in a relationship. Understood? Or shall I summon Vivi right now and have her expound?”

There had been an awful emphasis on the “pound” part of the threat; so, while no less puzzled as to why sex ranked below kissing on lady Akyuu’s liaison stepladder, Gin volunteered a meek nod. “… Understood. I’ll try to live.”

“You have, up to now.”

“Yes, sure,” agreed Gin, “but now I’ve the idea in the back of my head…”

Akyuu’s answering smirk could have stood for anything from “Earn it, and I might,” to “Attempt it, and perish.” Clarification was forgone, filled in for by the young noblewoman once more dragging her drenched pussy up the courier’s lowborn dick. Gin, in a just, if vengeful turn, waived leering at the anyway un-kissable parts of his lady, in favour of ogling the one to which he had been granted the full, womb-deep admittance.

Then and there, the conduct and ethics, which had been clamouring for a vacation for a good while already, were given the temporary boot; and Gin confessed to himself, in the resulting silence of his conscience, that the circumstance he was in was nothing short of fantastic. May be that lady Akyuu’s insides were sliding around his girth like those of a seasoned prostitute; on the outside, however – between her trimmed bush and the smooth belly that hadn’t yet been ravaged by childbirth – it was evident that the eldest daughter of the Hieda was barely old enough to be doing what she was doing. A girl ten years his junior was bouncing her hips up and down atop him, moaning like a woman grown whenever the head of his dick ground against a less experienced spot of her vagina. And then, each time her adolescent slit reached the base of his shaft, her flat belly tensed and bulged from containing his whole, hard manhood. Again, and again, little lady Akyuu raised and dropped her nude hips up and down his slippery hard-on, teasing his bare glans with every single fold it squeezed past inside her unduly mature pussy. All the while, she coaxed it to work harder still with hectic taps and flicks of her cute, pink clitoris.

At once amazing and absolutely, morally bankrupt, it was all Gin could wish, for the young mistress to get off of him and get down on all-fours, so he could plough her like a wild beast. That was the caveman speaking; and everything that Gin in actual did, was to begin nudging his waist back and forth, quickening the insertion by a little first, then about by half, once lady Akyuu slowed her motions in revenge. Soon, and their arrangement was reversed altogether: with the young mistress leaning forward, propped on one army by his chest, while the courier thrust into her hovering pussy from below. He might ache on the morrow; it was a bargain price to pay to keep poking his lady’s womb.

The office air grew rife with panting, smothered curses and the sounds of body parts smacking wetly into one another. There was no lack of confidence in Gin’s mind that anyone padding by for a midnight snack would get a messy earful of what the young lady of the house sounded like while her pussy was being scoured from end to end by a long, rugged cock. The lady in question was nowhere so introspective; she moaned and gasped with abandon at each rhythmic insertion – awarding the especially good ones with a breathless, “There! Yes, fffuck, fuck me there!” And when, owing to the intensifying pace of the sex, Gin’s cock popped out to ride up the smooth valley of her butt instead of her feverish pussy, it was she who scrambled for it first, whining, “Nooo, put that back in, put that back in!” – then screwed her hips down by herself. Akyuu’s back arched, and she grabbed at one of her clothed breasts as her belly was again crammed full of the courier’s raging manhood.

Care and scruples had long exited the stage; and, now that theirs was no longer a restraining presence, Gin gripped the young lady’s buttocks to fuck her in earnest – shoving himself into her soaked passage, then scooping out the soft folds with no concern for her own pleasure of comfort. Akyuu loved it either way, enduring but a couple seconds of the assault before her dignity was cracked, and her enjoyment came pouring out at volume. Toying with her stiff, little button turned at first difficult, then flat-out unwieldy as Gin jostled her hips back and forth, so the young lady smartly laid both her palms on the courier’s chest, and let his pumping cock drive her pussy the rest of the way to an orgasm.

It was not a long stretch. Sooner than either of them would have liked, Akyuu’s ecstatic moans turned a mite desperate.

“Gin, Gin, Gin, Giiin,” she panted, each distinct “Gin” chased by a slap of her buttocks against the courier’s thighs, “I’m about— I’m going to—”

“About— fuhh, time!” Gin groaned back.

Lady Akyuu, teary-eyed and at the frayed end of self-control, could only whimper, “Sorry— ahnn! Sorry, just— just a little— hngg, there, there, that place, rub that place, yes, yes, hnnng, YESSSS!”

And then, with that final, perverse exclamation, she jabbed her nails into Gin’s chest, and seized up from the shoulders down to the curling toes. Gin moved on pure, male instinct: forcing his overstimulated dick past her clenching walls, and pressing the tip head against the mouth of her womb.

The immorality of the act alone would have well thrown him over the edge; with lady Akyuu’s wringing insides all around his length, when he came, his first shot was nothing short of explosive. Akyuu crumpled atop him, twitching and moaning and fighting for breath with her own, climaxing body, while spurt after spurt of Gin’s hot, pent-up seed gushed straight into her snug baby room. And though the continued ejaculation left his hips a weak, jittery mess, he held the young noblewoman petite ass in place – ensuring, above all, that every last drop of his thick cum ended up where it was the most liable to get his lady pregnant.

And then, spent and exhausted, he laid his dizzy head – and listened to Akyuu coasting out the remainder of her orgasm.

Throughout the ensuing minutes – and they were heavy, leaden minutes – Gin did his damnedest not to contemplate what the had done to the girl he had once called “little Akyuu,” much to her squeaky chagrin. And he hadn’t had an astounding success, because – by the time now not-so-little Akyuu rose to a sit and stroked her fingers across the belly that was now pumped full of his seed – he was hard as morning wood and ready to revalidate that the young mistress would leave the room a teen mother.

Akyuu leered at him from under a tousled, sweat-stuck fringe. “… Already back in action?” she asked.

“… Yeah.”

“You are a sturdy one… Shall we take care of that, too?”

Gin stared. “… Can we?”

“Well—” lady Akyuu tweaked her waist, a smile crawling out onto her flushed face; “since you already came inside once, I suppose me one more will do no harm… Ah, but,” she cautioned, “you do the moving, this time. I will be lucky if I can walk straight tomorrow… There are pillows at my writing table; we can take it there. You will carry me, will you not, Gin?”

Gin did. And then, he fucked her atop the office table – until she deigned to let him touch his lips to hers if – and only once – he managed to give her another orgasm.
>>No. 39858
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“Gin? Gin Akamatsu.”

Gin Akamatsu shook out of the memory, not unlike a dog shakes out of water – except leaving his surrounds in poorer wear. He spared a thought for the tailors of Gensokyo, whose Winter creations went a long way to disguise the compromising spear or cane stuck down a trouser leg. Lady Akyuu was giving him a look which suggested the office in the morning was a distraction-free zone, where spears were left at the doorstep with the concierge. Gin returned it with a polished one of his own.

He'd not seen an inch of lady Akyuu’s nude skin since that night a fortnight ago, and he had grown very acquainted with the fact. Steady, he said to his spear, or I shall leave the fly down next we go outdoors.

“This—” the young mistress, awash in perfume and temper, was fanning a folded sheet of paper his way, “This is the easy one – for you.”

Gin Akamatsu took the invoice, flicked it open, and examined his immediate future. He found much too much of it to like.

“… Salt,” he read. “A sack of dodgasted salt?”

“A sack of dodgasted salt,” Akyuu confirmed, “from a friend of the clan to a friend of mine. Indispensable for cleaning ink out of old print fonts – at least, I am told. It’s a quarter-hour of brisk walk from the salt merchant’s to the printer’s; you can do it in twice as long if you fancy a rest along the way. And, if I may innocently remind you – they are friends of the family. Hint, hint, Gin.”

“I am a messenger,” Gin complained. “Not a porter.

“Courier,” corrected lady Akyuu. “Those do carry packets as well as correspondence, no?”

“Yes, packets,” grunted the disgruntled courier. “Handy things, yea big at best. Have you the dimmest how much a sack of salt weighs, though?”

Akyuu’s smile communicated a world of ignorance. “No?”

“About as much as a sandbag of the same size. A sandbag, lady Akyuu.”

“Why, but I saw you carry at least thirty of those when we got flooded this Fall. Come, now. They could not have been that heavy.”

“I was motivated,” noted Gin. He did not add, And you were watching, because every man needed a back-breaking shame in his life. “Anyway. What about those other commissions? From the un-legged fellow?”

Lady Akyuu’s eyes hardened, which is to say they went from lovely garnets to slightly more regal sapphires. The question hung between them with its hand out.

“… Can you do it surreptitiously?” was the demand handed in return.

“Ah, yes, surreptition,” Gin brightened; “I have heard that word!”

Akyuu’s precious eyes were rolled precariously in their sockets. “Can you do it on the quiet?” she rephrased. “Stealthily? Without noising it about in front of your friends when you go dip your noses in cheap ale?”

Gin was by no measure a sailor soul, but he knew how to throw a snub that was sure to land. “We both know,” he might say, “how tight I can keep my lips, young mistress.”

And that would have caused lady Akyuu to blush a pretty pink, and he would have laughed about it right merrily, but words were fickle things, inclined to swing around and gain an extra S at the front, especially when wielded by young, irritable noblewomen.

“Oh, well,” he said instead, in the unprotesting voice of someone held at metaphorical sword-point, “I could give stealth a try.”

“… All right,” said lady Akyuu, at last. Two more invoices were tugged out of the sheaf, both dog-eared and marked with a stroke of orange ink. “These should be safe enough, even if I am loath to risk another runner getting trounced by fairies.”

Gin blinked. “Trounced by—?”

“A figure of speech,” Akyuu cut him off. “At any rate, these two. This,” she said, wagging one sheet, “is an order of herbal remedies for a shop on the outskirts of the Forest of Magic. The details are listed. The other,” she indicated the other, “is a delivery for the Myouren temple. Straightforward, if a longer walk. It is daytime, so most youkai should be keeping off the roads. You have read my books; you can look after yourself.”

Gin’s brain said, “… We do business with youkai?” – which his mouth discreetly conveyed to, “… We do business outside of town?”

“Strictly on the Q.T.,” warned Akyuu. “This is why, Gin, I would rather you threw salt over your shoulder. If you take my meaning.”

“Yes, very topical,” he acknowledged. “But I won’t tempt the wrath of all Hieda if I do give it a blast?”

“Only mine, and only if you slip up. And, if we are to be altogether fair,” she added, her tiny lips quirking into an all-too-familiar smirk, “you have tempted way worse, big boy.”

Surprise overtook Gin’s automated retort. It hadn’t to travel too fast, because Gin’s brain was having a minor heart attack. Or his heart was having a major brain attack – he was too surprised to tell which. Lady Akyuu eyed him with subdued amusement, as if she could see the clever thoughts evacuating one by one through his ears.

“… And lived,” coughed Gin, with a thorough display of life functions, some of which the young mistress could see, and some of which she could not. “I, uh, get the message. As it were.”

Lady Akyuu gave him the rich, innocent smile of someone who had long memorised the Courier’s Handbook to Needling the Young Mistress (which consisted, really, of two, non-interchangeable points: 1. Needle, and 2. Run), and may in fact have penned the original edition herself. It was a book to live by for couriers who’d already had their work lined out for the day, and thus, totally useless for Gin. The tricky bit was to get all your tasks before engaging lady Akyuu in verbal sparring, because in lady Akyuu’s Lady Akyuu’s Guide to Retainers, which was more of a headsman’s daybook than a guide, retainers were always subject to snipping down to size.

Maybe, Gin told himself, it was time to take a job and make himself scarce – before lady Akyuu found her scissors.

( ) Salt aplenty for the friendly printer.
( ) Mystery packet for Myouren temple’s misfit.
( ) Healthy herbs for the hermit witch.
>>No. 39859
[x] Mystery packet for Myouren temple’s misfit.
I'm dumbstruck.
>>No. 39860
[x] Mystery packet for Myouren temple’s misfit.
>>No. 39861
(x) Healthy herbs for the hermit witch.

I can smell the Murasa bait from miles away. I'm not gonna play your game, Yaf.

Good stuff, though.
>>No. 39862
(x) Mystery packet for Myouren temple’s misfit.
>>No. 39863
(x) Healthy herbs for the hermit witch.

I'd like to see a human-only story for once.
>>No. 39864
(x) Salt aplenty for the friendly printer.

>>No. 39865
(X) Healthy herbs for the hermit witch.
>>No. 39866
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Sorry for the rough state of the above blocks. I really should have run it through someone before posting. Don't update with a boner, kids.

Next vote calls it, by the way.
>>No. 39867
(x) Mystery packet for Myouren temple’s misfit.
>>No. 39868
I can't believe you guys. Our one chance at Kosuzu smut and you all blew it. The next chance prolly isn't guuna come around till like...5 years from now after 'Kosuzu route never' becomes a meme and someone finally decides to do it.
>>No. 39869
Kosuzu sux lmao
>>No. 39871
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(X) Mystery packet for Myouren temple’s misfit.

“Ah, uh, yes,” decided Gin. “Imagine my soul could always use more… er, soul-age?”

Akyuu gave him a deliberative stare. It deliberated that everything about Gin needed age, least of all his soul. “… The temple job, then?” she guess-worked his unadulterated humour. “That is the middle of all evils, I suppose. Clear shot, and Hijiri should have her herd well hounded this long from a full Moon. Very well. Here, these are the papers.”

“The other guy could run it,” Gin said, a scrap defensively. “I’m no slouch.”

“Yes, well, the other guy is a brick privy on legs and no airier upstairs,” said Akyuu, in the blithe tones of someone knocking a co-worker who had just rounded out of earshot. “As good point him down the road and get clear, because he will sooner bowl you over than think to side-track. You, on the other hand, have a fondness for words; words, meanwhile, are what puts you athwart dispositions. See my concerns, now?”

“I am an airy individual,” the courier supposed.

“And needn’t any more holes in you,” said the young noblewoman, dropping a guillotine on that neck of the conversation. “Also, I like you, and would belike grow dull without our morning squabbles. Among those myriad other things you are handy for. So, do be nice and do be careful,” she commanded; “for me, if not yourself. Understood, Gin?”

Strangely enough, wings did not sprout out of Gin’s shoulders to actualise his soaring mood – and then make the rest of his life a major fuss in the doorframe department. Though he did sort of explode and implode at the same time, which feat was inaccessible to men who had not been swiped crabwise the knuckles by lady Akyuu’s usually less merciful yardstick. He reined himself within an ace of grinning like a winning horse. Gods, but this girl can fold you right into an accordion, said the discerning part of his brain, wincing at the ease with which lady Akyuu had done just so. It ill had to remark that the chances of her ever permitting him to forget what they had done were on the far side of remote, because the smirk on her face promised to make it her eternal leverage.

Gin shut his eyes and recalled that sweet figure bucking atop him, aflush with excitement, and scolding him for the crime of wanting to see more of it. Nope. That leverage wasn’t going anywhere.

Something in Gin, perhaps the very part of him that was being levered, trailed his fingers along the outside of lady Akyuu’s palm as he received the invoice being proffered. It was the flimsiest of returns to what amounted to an open flirt, but there it was: her other hand going to her ear to draw a lock of hair behind it. He got a lovely, tight little shiver inside.

It carried him almost to the manor’s depot yard. Then, he willed down his slovenly grin, ahead his tongue was turned completely into a meat popsicle for hungry youkai.

The Hieda clan’s courier service had long taken to hiring men for whom “waking hours” were a philosophical suggestion never given the attention due, and who were preoccupied rather with the question of, “Who prepares the baker’s breakfast?” What therefore met his eyes, despite the pale hour, was a tableau in various shades of industry; everyday deliveries were already leaving house on tireless shoulders, while individual orders (of which Gin’s included) were piled up on the “outgoing” platform after having been collected and readdressed the previous day.

Gin exchanged with the yardman what would, back out front, have been reckoned for a rude gesture, but what was closer or farther the employees’ ratified procedure for clocking in. The yardman took the invoice, saluted, and waddled off to retrieve the packet. Gin drummed his fingers on his knuckles. He missed the previous yardman. He’d had the disposition (and hairdo) of a hermit, but there had been times he would rattle out a few words by way of good-bye, which would then knock about the back of your skull for half the afternoon, until you realised it was actually a clever play on words or an esoteric piece of advice. And then, this Spring, he’d picked up his final wages, and up and become esoteric himself – leaving not as much as a name behind. Gin had, as a consequence, drunk a toast to none that night.

A team of two, carrying a ten-yard bamboo ladder, swerved by him, damn near taking his head off in a friendly, sportive of way. Then came the (new and bigger) yardman, and Gin’s smile fell on hard times. A large, hardwood travelling trunk was riding pillion beside the huge man’s head, and already seemed like a case of instant regret. It thumped veritably into the frozen dirt – something clinking, sloshing, and beckoning sweetly from inside. In about that order. Gin, salt on his mind, squirmed into the carry straps on the trunk’s longest face.

“… Whom to?” he asked, buckling both the rigging and himself up.

The helpful reply was, “Myouren’s.”

Gin throttled a groan. “Who do I get to sign, man?”

The yardman volunteered a shrug. “Ain’t said. None too many faces in there; use your mouth, if you must.”

“What do I tell them this is? Oil? Hakurei’s bath water?”

“Ain’t said,” repeated the big man. “Specialty orders; jus’ the number on the paper once it gets to us… Want to open it up for a look-see?” he suggested, in the wink-wink, nudge-nudge tones of a man hinting at licentious pleasures.

Gin shook his head. “Solid pass. I’m not tearing myself out of this now,” he said, smacking the leather spiderweb on his chest. “With hope, they shall be looking out on the road for me. With hope,” he stressed.

“Hope on, then,” the yardman concluded.

Whether that had been a play on words or advice Gin was meant to contemplate along the way had been lost in the purposeful fumes of the man’s departure. The important thing was, Gin told himself minutes later, that his hope does not freeze and fall off. The town’s lofty gates had been thrown wide open by the dawn watch, admitting the courier – and hardly anyone else at the moment – out on the agricultural flatland hemming the town on all frontiers. The fields and orchards of Gin’s home town were dead and deserted, only ferns of frost snaking along the frozen ground, and up the trunks of slumbering apple trees. A stifled, eerie quiet stalked the empty fields and orchards, deeper and duller the more the town’s walls faded into the morning mist. Gin didn’t mind Winter, if she stayed put and didn’t drop on you from an overhanging rooftop, but the creeping, snowless ambience of the highway was doing a number on his ears.

Soon, and Gin’s ears were ringing as well as numb. He sucked in a draft of the wintry air – and broke into a careful, athletic jog.

And under his steaming breath he murmured the song:

 I went to the woods,
  Where all the fairies live,
 I grabbed one by the ankles,
  And pinned her under me.

 Left foot forward, left foot down,
 I caught a fairy and went to town.

 I went up to the mountains,
  Where people fear to tread,
 A Kappa found me in the ford,
  And sucked my turtle head.

 Left foot forward, left foot down,
 A Kappa blowjob almost made me drown.

 I went up the hills,
  Where red-white miko lives,
 Asked her for an exorcism,
  And she went down to her knees.

 Left foot forward, left foot down,
 Miko armpits can feel quite divine.

 I went out to the lake,
  Where mermaid lady lives,
 I fished her out and stuffed my rod,
  Between her slimy tits.

 Left foot forward, left foot down…

And so on. A steady blood-flow was returned before long to all of Gin’s relevant extremities, at which point they carried the pace on without need for Gin’s awful singing in assist. Fields slid by in swirls of ghostly mist, now at a decent rate, as the courier ran on.

It was beyond the middle milestone – a crossroads, where the field hands would, in season, swap their laden and empty wagons around – among the farther orchards, that he saw the first, actual sign of snow this Winter.

… Or, not at all. Gin skidded to a halt, his breathing knocked out of rhythm and out of whack besides. Someone nearby, he quite suddenly realised, must be feeling mighty embarrassed, because what hung from a conspicuous branch on a tree most nearby the road, was not a clump of snow-white snow – but a pair of snow-white panties.

Gin thought to guffaw – then thought better. Common sense told him this was impossible, that panties belonged either on girls or in the laundry; and yet, there they were, plain as the hat on your head, especially if you were miss Kamishirasawa of the town’s history school. They even had a cute, red ribbon sewn to the front. That seemed funny as all hells to his brain right then, somewise.

“OK, haah, no, enough,” he said aloud, to no one except his confused sanity. There was no good in… what was it? Going moony? Yes, quite. He should look around first. Check what he was missing. Assess the circumstance. See why the wardrobe of the world was not how he’d always thought it was. Then go moony – but with a clear heart.

Sadly, just as he’d begun to study the panty puzzle, a nice, big, moony notion extended its paw.

( ) Don’t look the gift panties in the crotch.
( ) Skedaddle.
>>No. 39872
[x] Skedaddle.
Oh no you don't. I see you trying to derail the Myouren train. Fuck outta here with that.
>>No. 39873
[x] Skedaddle.
>>No. 39874
(x) Don’t look the gift panties in the crotch.

Can't just ignore the 100% completion trophy.
>>No. 39875
(x) Skedaddle
>>No. 39876
(x) Don’t look the gift panties in the crotch.

If he collects thirty pairs, does he get the ability to see girls' sexual frustration levels?
>>No. 39883
Huh. Well, called for the careful thing, then.
>>No. 39886
File 157271258885.jpg - (365.83KB, 707x1000, 74259958_p0.jpg) [iqdb]
(X) Skedaddle.

Gin smacked it out of the air. And he was brighter than to pick it back up once it began to roll and whimper.

Things the like of panties waiting a discerning collector up in a tree were, to use a specialist term, iffy. At best, they were an indication of someone close by getting lucky; at slightly less, an invitation to see something lucky. At worst, however, it could be the initial in a series of events which would, inevitably, find said discerning collector trussed up in rags and egged by fairies. Come to think of it, Gin appositely thought, what was it that lady Akyuu slipped? Something-something, trounced by fairies? Gin fancied he had a decent guessing solution on who the other runner was; and, if he was correct, then this would indeed have been the sort of trap he would leap head-first into. Or, at least, a certain sort of head-first.

A smile floated up to his lips. It was the sort a seasoned collector may give to a shameless forgery.

Gin scoffed the bogus panties down and up, hefted the shipment trunk on his back – and swaggered right past, under the offered treasure. A tinny, needy voice behind him cried, “Na— Wait. Waaait.”, which told him everything he needed to congratulate himself on a decision well made.

Out the corner of his eye, he witnessed a shadow descend the tree: a dark rend in the forest air – a globe of fathomless un-light, where the Sun should have been filtering through the pale, morning mist. Not something so innocuous a fairy. An actual monster. A youkai.

Gin Akamatsu was not the type of man who took to the idea of “fight or flight,” because “flight” was more or less written into his job description, which, as anyone could tell, can swiftly strip anything of its appeal. But the sight of that black orb tearing up the mist caused a bolt of electricity that hot-wired Gin’s hind-brain and whipped his legs into a frenzied scarper.

There were further pleas of, “Come baaack,” and other enticements, but none which would persuade Gin out of his most natural state. He ran, one foot before the other, until his breath burned in his throat, and his ears were choked with the clamour of his heartbeat. Then, and only then, did he dare to slow down.

And indeed did, to a once again quiet road.

The path to Myouren’s, its advocates promised, was easy as an afternoon stroll: an hour one way if said ease was taken, no meanders, and back home for lunch. A man could attend sister Hijiri’s lauded sermons, chat with the locals, take a soak in the newly tamed hot springs, and still be back ahead most honest, hard-working folk were even off their first shift. And men certainly did – in Summer, when noses weren’t as liable to crack and fall off of your face.

Gin shook his throbbing skull. That a youkai was prowling the frozen, dormant farmland was… well, disconcerting firstly, and mostly dumb from there on out. And to hang out that flavour of lure… Whoever did get snared and eaten in these circumstances likely deserved no pity.

It might be a harsh truth, but it was Gensokyo’s own. Also, hindsight – but mostly truth.

>>No. 39888
Li Ru pursuers get ye gonne.
>>No. 39889
Never! We shall endure!
>>No. 39891
File 157273830032.png - (188.21KB, 1290x1500, 74431963_p0.png) [iqdb]

Soon, and Myouren temple loomed out of the fog, in all its flipped-bowl-shape glory. Though, in strict, what loomed out was its imposing, stockade fence, while the temple did its looming without a preposition.

A fine tract of woodland sequestered it from the town’s fields and fallows: rather an urbanity from Acharya Hijiri’s chosen than a true delimitation. The Buddhists wished to be a part apart of Gensokyo’s human commune – in accord, yet distinct – like the skewer in a set of dango, except preachier. Gin had never understood the offence some townsmen took at this; it took all manners of acrobatics to eat dango without the soy sauce getting all over your fingers, and a skewer made for a handy aid. Some could do without it, some couldn’t. For the latter, there was Myouren’s.

Whatever this meant for the core concept of dango, it meant for Gin that he may cross the woodland boundary at leisure and, what was perhaps more heartening, unmolested. Only under the large, crimson Toori gate, which led immediately onto the temple grounds, did the bold courier meet the first impediment. And it did his head in as hard it had the first time, when he had wrangled himself into lady Akyuu’s entourage on her last social call to the temple’s vaunted Acharya.

There, smack dab in the middle of the approach, a tiny, broom-armed figure barred the way onward. Scant taller than Gin’s elbows, a pair of floppy, beastlike ears atop its head, and a pinkish dress that had seen better dye, the youkai guardian of the Myouren temple rounded on the courier, mitten-clad hands gripping its mighty weapon of choice. There was a nervous expectation in its lake-green gaze, and a terrible hunger.

Gin sighed. And then, having filled up on lost air, he hollered: “… Good morning!”

The warden youkai nearly sparkled. Gin barely slapped his palms over his ears before it framed its mouth in the oversized mittens, and—


—and nigh-on made hearing but an echo of the past.

Gin Akamatsu eked out a wry smile while the ground beneath him quaked out its last. This was the trouble with youkai; you could never take them at face value. There were plenty who wanted nothing less than their teeth around your carotid artery; yet, for every three, there came forth the one outlier who satisfied with a simple “Good morning!” or a trunk of… whatever, duly delivered to their doorstep. Those youkai were, as a rule, very civil – up until the point where they suddenly weren’t.

Well, Gin cheered himself, she isn’t nibbling on your neck, is she? He had a flash of stray regret as he pushed toward the warden youkai, with her big ears, big smile, and contrasting smallness. There was a faint impression of a wagging tail, which went no further than imagination, once the wary courier arrived within petting range.

… Wait, petting? Gin thought. Aloud, he said, “Ah, er… hello?”

The little broom-wielding youkai beamed up at him. “Hello! Good morning!”

“I,” tried Gin, “have a parcel here, for, uh… Myouren’s?”

Myouren’s!” was the involuntary reply. Then, something sparked. “Ah! Um… I am so very sorry, but Myouren is… Ah, ah, well, it pains our big sister Hijiri, but he is—”

“—late, yes. I know. I meant the temple.”

“Temple,” echoed the tiny gatekeeper. “… Temple has a parcel?”

Gin Akamatsu performed that downshift of abstraction every courier learns in response to ground-level contact with the recipients. “… Somebody in the temple,” he explained, long-suffering, “has placed an order with the Hieda. I am it. That is, I have it. Here, on my back.”

“On my back. Um… I do not know about an order. Sorry.”

“Another guy runs this line every other day; I’m only standing in for him. Tall bugger, trunk on his back… like mine? Maybe you know him. Who does he go to, usually?”

“Usually? Usually…” The youkai’s little face was a condensed diorama of all the artlessness in the world. “Ah, I am sorry; I do not recall a trunk, or a bugger…”

If you make her cry, Gin’s conscience butted in, you and I are going to have words. “… All right,” said the courier… who was still inside petting range, and still very conscious of it. “Any idea who might have put in an order with us, then? Someone who would want, er… stuff, from our town?”

Our town, our town,” mused the tiny warden, in the tones of someone in chin-deep focus. “… Mm, maybe captain ‘Mitsu, or sister Ichirin. Master Shou was chewed out for mooching offerings from devotees no earlier than last Moon, so probably not her. Naz, maybe… but she isn’t here; she’s wintering. Miss Mami could have gone and gotten it herself; and Nue, I haven’t seen in a while – even if I feel her around. Who else, who else…”

“And your lady Acharya?”

The gatekeeper smiled apologetically. “… I do not know. Um, I mean—” she caught herself; “lady Acharya? I do not know. Mm-hmm. There.”

Gin watched the diminutive youkai in consternation. She wasn’t exactly childlike, being bustier and hippier than could have been masked by the dress, and rather on the charming side; yet the shaggy, tawny ear-flaps kept his own inner child in mind of scratching the heck out of them. He’d never had a pet; a pet name had been as near as it’d come. Today, however, was not one for discovering his beast-master heritage; thus, Gin held his hands flat against his sides, well away from mischief.

“… Never mind,” he advanced, for the poor youkai’s self-esteem. “It isn’t your fault. Someone ought to have told you.”

Of course, that someone ought to have was not, by itself, a history changer. There wasn’t the chaser, “and, actually, I just remembered, someone did,” no matter how long Gin stood there, reining in his instincts; but someone ought to have told the adorable gatekeeper something, and right now the whole available range of someones consisted of Gin and her.

And echoes did not make themselves.

( ) Always wanted a sister. And this Ichirin already had the title!
( ) A captain! Sailors should know a thing or two about shipments, yes?
( ) When in doubt, rat it out. Straight to aunt Hijiri and hope for a hug!
>>No. 39892
- [x] Take advantage of optimal petting distance.
(x) When in doubt, rat it out. Straight to aunt Hijiri and hope for a hug!

The petting choice goes first because it's more important. We've expended our alotted supply of cautiousness with the panty business, anyhow.
>>No. 39893
[x] A captain! Sailors should know a thing or two about shipments, yes?
Now we're talking.

Plunder the booty! Hoist the mizzenmast! Swab the poop deck! Ruin the nautical references!
>>No. 39894
(x) Always wanted a sister. And this Ichirin already had the title!
>>No. 39895
(x) Always wanted a sister. And this Ichirin already had the title!
>>No. 39897
(x) When in doubt, rat it out. Straight to aunt Hijiri and hope for a hug!

Ichirin route never, and Cap'n already had a go at someone else's mast.
>>No. 39903
[x] A captain! Sailors should know a thing or two about shipments, yes?

Tryna get that booty.
>>No. 39907
File 157285544184.jpg - (1.23MB, 3300x2400, D6XY2F1V4AABUs1.jpg) [iqdb]

Slapping a few more hours on it. If there isn't a hero until then, I will be picking favourites.
>>No. 39908
File 157288845073.jpg - (218.28KB, 640x400, __hijiri_byakuren_murasa_minamitsu_and_kumoi_ichir.jpg) [iqdb]
Called. What's that? Which outcome? You shall know... soonish.
>>No. 39937
File 15734272363.jpg - (1.81MB, 1250x1500, __kumoi_ichirin_touhou_drawn_by_bakuya__11ece65088.jpg) [iqdb]
(X) Always wanted a sister. And this Ichirin already had the title!

“Well… I’m a tad left-handed with authority,” said Gin, sneaking in a great deal of surreptitiousness to his tone, since echoes were classically very bad at it. “Second-in-authority, though… That is what she was, yeah? More my stick of dango, right there.”

“Of dango,” agreed the tiny youkai, “right there. Um. You want sister Ichirin, then?”

“A sister is one of my longest dreams. Where do I brother— er, bother this Ichirin?”

“This Ichirin. Yes, um. Sister Ichirin has taken her morning practice behind the rest-house, which is this here—” she tipped her broom at the elongate structure huddled under the temple’s western wall. “Too many eyes out front got, um… engrossed. That is, that was what big sister Hijiri said. Sister Ichirin can really move – when she incurs good rhythm. It is something to see; I like watching it, too.” The tiny warden youkai broadcast admiration.

Gin beat down the rising smidgens of jealousy. “… Are you, er,” he asked, words tumbling out over the piled smidgen bodies. “Are you here often? As in, blast it, when I leave – will you be? In, what – fifteen or abouts?”

“Or abouts. I mind the gate,” affirmed the dutiful little youkai, “so, I am here always… except sometimes.”

“And in fifteen?” Gin wanted to know.

“In fifteen. I should be here, yes.”

The courier’s relief fogged in the frigid air. “Good,” he wheezed. “Wonderful… In that then case, I should confirm something with someone, and, er… See you on the way out? Yeah?”

“Yeah? Mm-hmm—” the tiny gatekeeper gave a serious little nod, “—okay. Until then, brother… um?”

“GinAkamatsuwiththeHieda,” Gin reeled off, the years of usance providing the needed sound – if not the discreet words.

The flap-eared youkai’s head was tipped askance. “GinAkamamatsuwith…”

Gin mentally sledged himself. “… Gin,” he groaned. “Just Gin.”

“Just Gin. So… brother Just Gin?”

“No just. Just Gin.”

“Just Gin.”

“Too right.”

Out the corner of his attention, appropriated hitherto by the cutesy warden, he could now discern the hints of daybreak at full career: the bustle before the temple’s sanctum, where disciples and neophytes were assembling for morning sermons; black-robed supplicants scurrying about; the bodeful murmur of enlightenment, poised to befall anyone too tardy to escape. Gin scrunched his worldliness into a protective ball. He roughed out a salute, and whisked past the gatekeeper youkai, a man with a mission worn on his sleeves. Or back, as it were, in Gin’s case.

The Myouren temple rest-house, at which the courier had been pointed, had a neat, understated frontage. It was a building designed by a soul steeped in the practical, with only a token pinch of religious pomp. That pomp now lay dead in vacant flowerbeds; and the wide, sliding doors were shut with such a sheer shutness, it seemed to defy anyone to make good on their purpose. A mushroom cloud of milky steam brooded over the slanted roof – natural advertisement of the hot springs touted in rumours. Gin marched the courier march unto the far end of the front-spanning veranda, whereupon he turned its tucked-away corner…

… Only to stand as still as a pillar of salt that couldn’t move because it was a pillar of salt.

There, on a stretch of yard cloistered off between the rest-house and the outer fence, a woman was locked in a death flamenco with an invisible musketeer. Gin’s command of his jaw loosened at the sight of a white karateka’s kimono top over bare skin; it dropped like an anvil when the woman casually cartwheeled forward from an upright stance. A sky-blue ponytail whipped in her wake, slicing at the frigid air, almost in synchrony with the gold-chased chakrams gripped in both the dancer’s hands.

There was a hitch of awkwardness in the lethal dance as the woman’s eyes fell on the gawping Gin. And then, another cartwheel, terminating in a fencer’s pose.

“… Yes?”

Gin crashed his jaw shut. A gap had opened down the front of the woman’s kimono, neatly dividing her ample bust into an area that still left something to the imagination, and one that didn’t. A shadow of something darker peeked out from underneath the separating line on one side.

Someone said, “May I assist you?” and Gin peeked up alertly at the woman’s serious, unbothered face. A faint smile had worked its way to the edges of her mouth. It was the sort of smile that had perched on a street corner with a religious pamphlet all day, and you just made inadvertent eye contact. Of course, a Buddhist would not overmuch mind showing off a huge swathe of her assets; Buddhists almost didn’t mind things as a rule. Gin did, therefore, do his best not to focus on the large, half-exposed breasts either. He focused, instead, on the creamy, sweat-doused valley between them. That, right there, had to do.

“… Gin Akamatsu,” he said, after exhausting the lower reaches of decency. “With the Hieda. I have a parcel here for… well, someone in the temple. Might you be sister Ichirin?”

The woman’s cerulean eyes widened with something halfway from suspicion to surprise. “A courier? Yes, yes, I’m—” There was a skip and a relaxing of battle-ready muscles, and the armed dancer tugged the halves of her kimono farther up her shoulders. This had the rather inopportune side-effect of squishing her breasts together for an even more inviting cleavage. “… I am Kumoi Ichirin,” she acknowledged. “Acharya Hijiri’s second; Myouren temple’s guardian. You must excuse my appearance; I am not, technically, in my robes yet. If you will. How may I assist you with this… parcel?”

You bloody tell me, thought Gin. “Thing is,” he said, “it’s been addressed to the temple; no names, no notes. Our usual carrier got on the nasty end of a fairy, and I’m not terribly well acquainted with Myouren’s.”

“What is inside the parcel? That should make for a decent hint.”

Gin gave a shrug. “No dimmest,” he confessed. “It sloshes, is all I know. I don’t pack these, sister. Just a runner.”

Sister Ichirin seemed to consider it. At least, the cant of her ponytailed head seemed to imply so. “… And,” she asked, drawling the words, “I was the first face you ran across?”

“No,” replied Gin, which was true. “Your gate minder steered me here,” he added, which was not un-true. “Wasn’t the longest shot, I reckoned.”

“And you have inquired of this,” pressed Ichirin, “to no one else?”


“Not sister Byakuren? Not… anyone with a cap?”

“Uh. No?”

No one, no one?

Gin made a frown. “… No. Why—”


A pair of gleaming, polished, metal hoops sailed through the intervening air.

Gin’s hands snatched them up, more a boyhood reflex than a conscious decision. Golden all the way around, they were heavy things; not quite weapons, for want of bladed edges – though Gin had all the same the eeriest impression they somehow warped whichever patch of air was unlucky enough to happen inside the ring. There was an old, teacherly-sounding phrase Akyuu had used to describe youkai artefacts in one of her books. An item of such lineage, according to her, “knew not not to play hooky with the fundamental laws of the world.” Gin held the chakram’s very still, keenly disregarding that the chill, winter breeze wafting through them (against his best efforts) came out slightly warmer on the other side.

Gin came out slightly warmer himself when sister Ichirin raised her offloaded arms to loosen her ponytail. The stiff halves of her kimono split further down the middle, until the plump undersides of her breasts were made a part of the mountainous landscape. At a light pinch, Ichirin’s hair spilled down the sides of her face in messy, slightly curling locks. Gin tried hard not to think about waking up to this sight every morning; he thought of waking up to it one morning, after a full-night work-out.

The thoughts of physicality fizzed out once the shapely temple guardian snapped her fingers, and the chakrams reappeared in her hands with complete disregard for the now-toss-them-back-to-me-good-job part of catch.

“Come inside, will you please?” she asked. “Could be ears anywhere in the open.”

Gin struggled with a seething snake nest of innuendo. “Uh,” he grunted his pronounced effort. “… All right, fine. Yeah.”

“Good. After me, then. Oh, and—” she remembered, spinning on a sandal’s heel. “Myouren temple does graciously extend its greetings to the envoy of the Hieda.”

There was a deep bow, which left Gin Akamatsu in mind of dipping net-wrapped watermelons into a cool river. He bowed back, rather with prudence than ceremony. One more blessing on the clothiers of Gensokyo.

“And I, uh, do greet Myouren in return?” he supposed.

“It’ll do,” granted Ichirin. “OK, now, let us really go get inside. ‘Mitsu will crawl out of the bath any minute; I’d like this done and over with before she does. Come, follow me.”

And then, all soul of secrecy, she padded for the short flight of stairs climbing to a door on the lonely flank of the building. Gin clambered after, wincing at the un-cloak-and-dagger noise his laden feet elicited from the wooden treads.

A handful of shrouded candles illuminated the rest-house’s hallway, which was to say they lent an orange hue to the mahogany floor and walls around them. Sister Ichirin led Gin down along a row of identical doors, the tap-tap-tap of her sandals almost clamouring in the silence. All of a sudden, she swerved into one, which her better-acquainted eyes must have singled out somehow. That, or – like her hoops – the doors were bloody magic.

Gin felt, if anything, only a touch less cold once he trailed after Ichirin into the room, and the door clicked closed behind him. As the name of the building should have implied, the room was… well, it wasn’t a restroom, which would have spoken to sense on some level, yet had been meant, clearly, for rest: a knee-high breakfast table in one corner, and a roll of fresh futons opposite. There weren’t candles here; though, a few rays of morning light were knifing through the paper-screen walls. It was, all in all, pretty restful.

Motivated by sister Ichirin’s prodding glances, Gin finagled himself out of the trunk’s rigging, and laid it on the floor. Then, he stomped on to collapse tiredly on the table. Then and there, he felt a damn silly fool; there were things, told in stories, of men who pursued attractive women into secluded places, and none of them with especial respect. Their remaining lifespans usually followed. Gin’s mind groped for differences between those stories and his own, which it thought could save its owner’s honour. It found one in Ichirin – here, the “attractive woman” – having evidently more interest in the package than in Gin – the “disrespectful term” – and his tasty flesh.

Another was that she hadn’t sprouted a wealth of warts, tentacles and fangs the moment they were alone – and remained a tongue-drying sight as she knelt to undo the buckles keeping the delivery contained.

When the lid popped, Ichirin hefted it up, causing Gin to lean forward with curiosity… and not in the least because the kimono was being very unruly. Inside the old trunk, each in its own, straw-packed compartment, was a venerable hoard of large, varicoloured bottles. Ichirin hung over the trove, mouth agape, the staid confidence unveiling a crack for the first time. Among other things that were being precariously unveiled. In faintly disbelieving wonder, she picked out a chunky, earthenware bottle – cracked the wax seal – plucked the stopper – and sniffed at its unknown contents before Gin conceived of a single protest.

And then, not satisfied with smell alone, she took a long, adventurous swig.

“… Yuzushu,” was her instant review. “It’s gods-damned, bloody yuzushu…”

Gin looked on as she marvelled quietly at the bottle. “… Were Buddhists allowed to drink?” he questioned aloud. Or swear? he tacked on in his head, while at it.

That soured Ichirin’s overall score. Her eyes quit glittering. “… Well, no,” she surrendered; “by dint of generality, we are not. States the fifth precept,” she intoned, “renounce thou all seditious substances. As all Buddhas refrained, until the end of their lives, so shall we refrain, until ours end also.”

“Sounds cut-and-dry to me, sister,” opined Gin.

Ichirin’s teeth caught her bottom lip for an unguarded moment. “It would be, yes – I agree,” she argued. “I, however, am youkai. I can renounce any substance at a will. If need be, I can sober up in a heartbeat. What use is to refrain then?”

“What use is to get drunk?” asked Gin, in the quasi-philosophical tones of someone who asks themselves the same every Sunday, round about midnight.

Sister Ichirin must have recognised the kindred vibes, since she laughed ahead admitting, “I feel better about myself after a bottle or two. It isn’t more complex than that. I do not intend insult to sister Byakuren’s teachings; I do not treat my station lightly. Alcohol is but a key to be more… myself. And that is what I want to be, when I am on my own time. Not sister Ichirin; not the Great Wheel, Guarding and Guarded. Ichirin. Me. You get?”

Gin detected just a dash of a mite of desperation from the dishevelled woman on the floor. Maybe, he conceded, the hearsay had itself heard wrongly of the valiant guardian of the Myouren temple. Sister Ichirin had indeed featured scarcely in whispers on youkai Buddhists, for the volume of whispering they engendered; now, he saw, it hadn’t been for lack of vices. Maybe the gods had said to her, “Sorry, lass, we are giving you faults and wants like everyone, but here, take this overweening sense of responsibility to cover them up.” Maybe that was why she had damned them just then.

Gin Akamatsu sighed his sympathy at her as he climbed back to his feet. “I get,” he promised. “I’ll be collecting my fee, and leave you to be yourself, then.”

A minute tightening of Ichirin’s beautiful eyes told the courier, in no uncertain addresses this time, that he had said something off. “Your… fee?”

Oh no, thought Gin, staring down the beautiful, scantily-dressed woman with a bottle dumbly stuck in her hand. “Uh. Yeah?” he said. “Items are pre-paid, but there is a fee levied upon delivery, along with potential differences in market price. It was in the invoice you signed when you placed the order. There ought to be a chit in there somewhere with a tally; you can dig it up, and we can check if there were… any… Yeah, right,” he sighed. “Wasn’t you, was it? OK, sister; you had a sample. I’ll be taking that back, now, thank you, and then to someone who—”

“Sit down, courier.”

The command had an exasperated, Akyuu-like harmonic to it, which folded Gin’s legs underneath him. He flopped back on the table, while Ichirin drained the bottle in one, prolonged swig. Then, obstinacy worn plain as lipstick on her mouth, she stood and rounded at the assiduous courier who would charge her so.

“I’ll level with you,” she said – before, indeed, joining him on the placeholder sofa.

A butterfly hatched inside Gin’s stomach. As if warmed by the bodily proximity, the ice-encased cavemen in his head were all at once thawed, and grabbed at their discarded clubs. They thumped their feet at Ichirin’s comely face, and flared their nostrils at the rich, pheromone-thick scent of her perspiration. And then, they began to whoop in joy once Gin realised that, from this new angle, the entire slope of Ichirin’s left breast was on display inside the kimono’s loose front: from the sharp collarbone, to the plump, carmine peak that was the nipple. It was round, pale, ostensibly unbothered by gravity, and promised to more than tax Gin’s hand, if he should ever dare to slide it inside the gap and give it a nice squeeze. It could well have been the largest, softest-looking breast Gin would ever squeeze.

It had been two weeks since he’d had sex with lady Akyuu; two weeks, which he had spent in willing celibacy, on the thin hope that his secret love would request they relieve each other again. It’d been a dry, empty fortnight, which now slammed into his gut with fourteen days of delayed libido. And the curvy sister Ichirin was receiving the brunt of its focus.

“—s your name? Gin?”

Gin tore his gaze from the art-piece of her nude breast, and looked up blearily at Ichirin’s face. The same, pamphlet-waving smile was once more at home, except framed now in curls of sky-blue hair which seemed straight out of a bed where many, many sweaty things had taken place the previous night. “… Gin,” he confirmed, a reflex not lost in the exodus of blood from his brain. “Gin Akamatsu. With the Hieda.”

Ichirin happily cleared her right cheek of that dreamy bed-hair. “Well, Gin Akamatsu with the Hieda,” she obliged. “The straightest of it is this: that this parcel is likely for my best friend. A certain ‘Mitsu, whom I may have mentioned.”

Gin gave a nod. And not because down was where the breast was. No, sir. “You did,” he admitted.

“Yes. A while ago, ‘Mitsu made… shall we say, friends? With a man from your town. Soulmates at first sight, to hear her tell it; I imagine, given what she did tell me, this crate of booty is from him, to her. Stands to scrutiny, anyway – in my eye.”

Gin squared his eyebrows. “You… imagine?”

“There is more,” assured Ichirin. “I was traded a bond of yuzushu for my hush in all this, see? And that, right there… Well, I’ll be a Taoist whore if that wasn’t it. Checks out, yes?”

“Yes, demonstrably no eboshi on your head,” quipped Gin, not positive himself where he’d stored the wit. “OK, so, uh… you want to hold on to this, and participate in the surprise. Jolly. There’s still my fee to take out of the equation.”

Sister Ichirin wasn’t about to let his stubbornness overwhelm her own. “… All right,” she said. “This is the salacious bit, then.”

And then, swivelling her hips, she pulled one leg up onto the table. The cavemen in Gin’s head booed at once when the change in facing shielded the sister’s soft endowment from their sight. They found quite something else to gawk at when the leg turned out to be utterly bare from mid-thigh down to the littlest toes.

“So, here,” the buxom Buddhist was saying, “when that man first met ‘Mitsu, here in the temple, he had with him, reportedly, some sort of very expensive sweets. We, in Myouren’s, however, by our calling, rarely deal in hard currency. Oh, sister Byakuren keeps gold chips and such, for emergencies; on the whole, though, we feed our neophytes from offerings, not through commerce. So, can you wager a guess—”

Gin’s heart rammed at his ribs when Ichirin tipped forward and slapped her hands on the tabletop just beside him.

“Can you wager a gods-damned guess,” she dared him, in the sarcastic register of someone who knew, but wanted somebody else to embarrass themselves with the answer, “what it was that she gave him in return for those priceless sweets? Can you?”

Gin inflated his chest, ready to take the figurative plunge and wager it had been—

( ) A handy in the back pews.
( ) A really long and really friendly kiss.
( ) All he was owed and not a yen less.
>>No. 39938
(x) All he was owed and not a yen less.

Maybe if we keep playing dumb this sinning youkai won't eat us.
>>No. 39939
(x) A really long and really friendly kiss.
>>No. 39942
(x) A really long and really friendly kiss.
>>No. 39943
(X) All he was owed and not a yen less.
Whatever, NUN. I've got a cute echo to get back to.
>>No. 39944
[x] A handy in the back pews.
Going the whole hog for some dainties that'd vanish in moments? I doubt it. But some gratitude would be in order, sure.
>>No. 39954
File 157358004180.png - (126.86KB, 500x639, __hieda_no_akyuu_touhou_drawn_by_shiroshi_denpa_es.png) [iqdb]
These ties are starting to piss me off...
>>No. 39956
Alright, fine. >>39944 here.

Change my vote to [x] A really long and really friendly kiss.

Continuity maintained.
>>No. 39957
(X) All he was owed and not a yen less.
>>No. 39964
(x) A really long and really friendly kiss.
>>No. 39970
(X) All he was owed and not a yen less.

Show me the money
>>No. 39971
and it's tied again, lol
>>No. 39972
(X) All he was owed and not a yen less.
>>No. 39973
Called. Good lord.
>>No. 39986
File 157392685065.jpg - (199.23KB, 1280x1024, __kumoi_ichirin_touhou_drawn_by_hi_yo__2cf7dad974d.jpg) [iqdb]
(X) All he was owed and not a yen less.

—something not routinely enjoyed by men who went around dispensing sweets. Or, Gin’s moral nous begged it not to be.

And now, with his mouth tasting of warmed-over air radiated off Ichirin’s abyssal cleavage, he thought he had ennobled himself to a girl with alcohol before. Only then, his thanks hadn’t extended farther than passionate conversation and a chase kiss on the cheek. What the foxy youkai priestess was angling for with the subtlety of a protractor guaranteed not to end there. Where it was more apt to, was in one of the tight, treacherous crevices immanent to the sort of hilly environs she was showboating. The cleavage being one; even now, Ichirin’s copious bust was dangling below her, straining the front of her kimono something amazing. A bead of sweat was trickling down one of smooth, round slopes, to vanish down a silky ravine Gin had a suspicion he could fit inside with precious room to spare. What harm would it do to see how deep it went?

That, needless to say, was a question with a higher historical lethality rate than, “Where the heck did my rake go?” or “How spicy could it be?”

Gin tasted steel. It was his own; his moral nous was sharpening its shank, and chips were flying everywhere. It was giving him a look.

“… Were,” Gin obliged, “that this man of your friend’s was anything like me, sister, then she’d probably have paid all he was owed… and not a yen less.

There was a fraught, awkward pause that followed the words, which the courier punctuated with a fixed, polite smile, while the busty priestess tried to somehow sort them out to her satisfaction. When she found she couldn’t, she cracked them over a scowl.

“… No,” she said tartly. “No, no, no—”

“Yes,” said Gin, seeing her tart and raising her a lemon. “Sorry, sister. The Hieda don’t feed me; I need to commit this fee if I want my slice at the end of the month. You get?

Ichirin chewed the reply. It was an impressive sight; and the first impression it gave Gin was that he was fortunate not to be in its place. Then, she grimaced like a woman scorned. Or, anyway, like one who had bit a lemon.

“… Is it because I am youkai?” she demanded.

Gin’s lips went dry at a returning memory of alcohol. “… No,” he squeezed out. “No, I’ve… er, had confabs at a table with amiable youkai before.”

Ichirin gave his witticism a hard pass. “What, then?” she pressed. “Am I ugly? Too thick? Too mannish?”

Ma’am, should you be a man, then you would be the sexiest I’ve ever done seen, muttered a lesser part of Gin’s psyche. The greater one sieved for an excuse. “… I,” he confessed at length, “I have… a girl. That I like. As in, really like. That’s it.”

A girl who is so far above your means, supplied Gin’s ignored lesser part, as good you might save up for a gold-encrusted ladder. A girl who has told you, in no veiled terms, to pick up a different lover. The courier told it to go blow itself – on account that no one else was about to.

Sister Ichirin, who had heard nothing but Gin’s outward purity, slowly drew away. Her body heat went with her, only truly palpable once it was gone. Gin shivered from neck to stomach, and not at all for lack of warm clothing. The nice sweat he’d worked up in the jog to the temple could not hold a towel to the intense, ritual exercise Ichirin had, earmarks were, been at all morning. In warmer indoors, the bare sweeps of her light skin had grown pink and glossy; they looked to the courier as if they would stick and cling lovingly to whatever indiscriminate hands were to rub against them. Or, for that matter, to any other unbridled body part. The sultry scent of her body dallied in her wake. It smelled faintly of wounded pride.

And then, sister Ichirin gave a surrendering sigh, and stood from the maltreated table.

None too soon, either, for the cavemen of Gin’s head almost chose that same moment to grab his conscience and club it sideways the nape. Ichirin piquantly neatening her clothes arrested their attention long enough for it to scurry away to safety.

“You, sir courier,” said the priestess, arms propped on her motherly hips, “are a dog in the manger. And here I’d fancied I could get one up on ‘Mitsu…”

“What, by hitching the goods from under her nose?” asked Gin, ever the connoisseur of friendly sabotage between playmates.

“Hmph.” Sister Ichirin’s mouth drew into a sour arch. “No. That’d have been the murder stroke. So to speak. This—” she eloquently spread her hands, “—was to be the prime blow. That I could do better than she. You get?”

“Meaning,” ventured the courier, “do a better man, or do a man better?

Apart from the condescension in her inhuman eyes, Gin could have imagined she’d been surprised. “None of your danged now, lover-boy,” she put him down. “Agonise on it on your own, if you must. Or don’t. I don’t give a particular. Tell me, rather. How do I cover for this bloody fee of yours?”

He eyed her from under a frown. “You want to hitch it after all?”

“Look here, you,” warned Ichirin. “I’ve flushed that yuzushu down my bloody throat already, and now it’s all going to go to waste. So, don’t push it. Talk. How do I pay you? Gold all right? I haven’t really anything else I’d will to barter.”

Gin ran this by his internal accounting. “Uh. Sure. Should be able to exchange it for coin somewhere…”

“How much?”

This was an area less accounted for. “… Well, the fee is six hundred per, on large deliveries, so…” He hesitated. “… Six grams?”

Ichirin, appearing to find no issue, made a nod. “That’ll do.”

And then, she took her legs, hips, the storm of sky-blue curls, and everything in between – and tramped out of the room.

Once she faded from its air as well, Gin Akamatsu reclined atop the table he, along with sister Ichirin, had come oh-so-close to grossly misusing. He felt a shade like a man who’d almost not crossed a river on stepping-stones. He’d made it in the end, but the final stone had been a tad beyond his spread, so it hadn’t been without some inguinal stress. When he considered it rationally (insofar as rationale could apply to anything within a minute’s space from a body like sister Ichirin’s), he had done his courier’s integrity quite the solid. He’d turned down a sweaty, skin-on-skin session with a busty, assertive woman – only in order to secure his modest job.

On the flipside, he’d turned down a sweaty, skin-on-skin session with a busty, assertive woman, only in order to secure his modest job.

Someone was hooting and stomping in his head that he might like to conduct his future behaviour with an eye to this.

When, in proverbial no-time, Ichirin returned to the room, it was inside a now-primly lashed kimono with a satin kerchief tucked under one half. And, once that was unfolded (the kerchief, not the kimono), it was Gin’s jaw which followed suit. There, on the youkai woman’s outstretched palm, lay half a dozen scales of bright, beer-yellow gold. Wafer-thin, spiderweb shapes, reminiscent of the ribs on oak-leaves, they had every appearance of having been somehow removed from the surrounding rock while retaining the original flow of the gold seam. They were each a tiny artefact of nature, a self-contained treasure, none like Gin had ever seen.

And six of them were presented in total.

Ichirin dumped them in his hands unceremoniously. “No earthly idea how many ‘gram’ these are,” she confided. “What I do know is, the number checks out. Yeah?”

Gin carefully folded the scales back up in the kerchief. Then stashed the bundle in a pocket. “Yeah.” Maybe? “I’m, er, under an oath to return the trunk, too. So, if you’ll ‘scuse…”

It was he was uprooting the bottles from their compartments that Ichirin spoke over his shoulder. “Courier?”

“Gin, Hieda, et caetera,” murmured Gin. “What is it?”

“You mentioned,” Ichirin ducked the repartee, “that you weren’t the regular lineman for Myouren’s? That someone else, what was it, runs it most other days?”

“Oh. Yeah. A bighead with a big man strapped underneath. Ought to be back on soon… ish. And then, there are other messengers doing his courses in the meanwhile. Why?”

“And what,” Ichirin drove on, “is the cheapest… item you do deliver?”

“Anything? Closer or farther,” supposed Gin. “You lodge an order with a clerk; they do you a pricing; you pay the advance and go home. We’re on it in a day or two… unless you want a specific pair of Hakurei’s panties or something.”

“How professional. And I should only do so with money?”

“Clerks do like their shiny bits numbered. Sentimental value frightens them.”

The last bottle stood on the straw-mat floor, and Gin re-lidded the trunk. He creaked up to his feet, hefting the now-much-lightened baggage onto his back. Sister Ichirin watched him wiggle into the straps, somewhat like a hound with a bone that had lost the musty, rotted aroma a week ago, and just wasn’t fun to lick anymore.

“… Ah, before I run,” the courier recalled, a foot already halfway into the process. “About that excitable little gate minder of yours…”

Ichirin’s brows skewed at the question. “Kyouko? What about her?”

“Well,” coughed Gin, “I am nothing if not a gentleman, so I reckoned I should ask this ahead…”

A minute hence, he was once more out in the cold under the Toori gate: scratching behind the warden’s woolly ear-flaps and basking in the rays of her glowing smile. Kyouko, who had at first eyed his questing hand with puzzled apprehension, was now snuggling the inside of his palm, mumbling in a gleeful little voice. As a result, Gin was being warmed in no small way, both inside and out.

There were times, in a proud, young man’s life, when retrospect caught up and rolled him across the bed in an explosive tantrum. On those rainy days, it helped to have a “Well, at least—!” on the side to cushion the blow, and avert a permanent contusion of the ego. Kyouko’s big, content smile could occupy an entire body pillow.

With his future set right (and alight), Gin bade the adorable little warden a fare well – got it returned with tenfold interest – smacked his temples until his ears quit ringing – and set, at a trot, back toward the Winter-seized town.
>>No. 39987
Thot succesfully disregarded, acquired lotsa money and petted a cute doggo.

Today was a good day.
>>No. 39988
two thots successfully disregarded, in fact. Loli thot and nun thot
>>No. 39989
I guess this is what I get for not asking clarification before voting. Oh well, I wanted Cap'n anyway, so what the fuck ever.
>>No. 39990
Headpats > Sex

You heard it here first, folks
>>No. 39994
File 15739542618.jpg - (170.37KB, 717x826, 32371085_p0.jpg) [iqdb]
He went down to the Hiedas’ depot. He dropped the empty trunk on the unhelpful yardman’s toe, mended workplace relations with a convivial slap on the kidneys, mooched around the yard and got in the way of people laden under heavy things, and last flounced back inside the manor, shedding tails of fake urgency.

Lady Akyuu’s office door appropriately knocked, Gin Akamatsu appropriately “Come on in”-ed, he pulled off his cap and stepped again inside the young mistress’s workplace. Nothing too much had changed since morning; lady Akyuu was still quietly unattainable, and she was still fiddling with the concept of a paper-stack fortress. There were but two conspicuous additions to the place; of these, one was an incense stick – stuck, faithfully to its name, in the stump of a candle – half-charred and smelling sharply of citrus. The other was a girl.

“Gin,” said lady Akyuu, slashing with her fountain pen at the arrived courier. Then, she reversed her hand, and indicated, “Kosuzu. Be nice.”

There was the sound of manners slotting into place, and gazes being turned from the authoritarian hostess. Gin eyed the other guest: all four-and-a-half feet of height wrapped in stuffy plaid. Younger than Akyuu on the outside, the girl must have gotten her sense of fashion in inheritance. A head of carrot-orange hair, done up in a matching pair of bunches, was peeking out above a tartan scarf the width of Gin’s self-esteem. Over all, she wore a buffed, canvas apron, bedecked in what could only be tribal markings, or accidental splashes of ink from too sweeping a writing style.

Seniority trumped gender, however briefly, and the girl offered up the unsteady bow of a tipping turnip.

“Motoori Kosuzu,” she volunteered. “Of, um, Suzunaan and the printing press. And you—”

“Gin Akamatsu,” returned Gin, dipping his upper half like a dunking bird. “With the Hieda.”

A girly chuckle presaged the reply. “Yes, I figured, what with you being here. And you are, I meant to say, miss Akyuu’s favourite—”

One of the favourite errand boys,” Akyuu intervened.

The young mistress was married too close to scraping yet another line down a row of figures to notice the smile that passed along Kosuzu’s colourless lips as she unrolled from her bow. Gin did, and in it read a novel’s worth of words which he hadn’t likely been meant to know about. A soft jingle stole the rousing curiosity, and the courier realised some very worried soul had attached a pair of sleigh bells to each of Kosuzu’s pigtails.

“Yeees,” she drawled. “One of the favourites, all very fine. At any rate, this is fortunate; you are aware what it is that I do?”

The question had been aimed Gin’s way, and rather with an Akyuu-like inflection. He responded almost on instinct. “You’ve, er, printed books for the young mistress. No?”

“Only a trifling few, a guide here, a monograph there,” said Kosuzu, with affected modesty. “Nothing the volume of, say, Agatha Chris Q’s issue. Hmm? Not what I meant, not what I meant. Anyhow, I also do… readings, let us say.”

“Readings,” said Gin, his smile by now a bit glassy.

“Yes. I read things. With the emphasis on ‘things;’ books aren’t a pile of challenge, provided you’re familiar with the language. Well… as long as you are. Which brings me to…” There was a dramatic pause. “… Ah, nothing so grandiose, really,” Kosuzu gave up, seeing the geological activity on Gin’s forehead. “Miss Akyuu here has let it slip that you were… spirited away to Gensokyo at a younger age, being originally from the Outside World. The Hieda clan took you in, and you have been in their employ ever since. Hmm?”

“And I’d thought I’d tried assimilating…” sighed Gin, leering at his not-so-tight-lipped lady. Akyuu ignored it.

Kosuzu chimed, summoning his attention back to herself. “Small matter here,” she said; “big matter to me. There’re books and papers from the Outside World at my father’s shop that people want read, but I can’t fain well understand. They’re in Japanese, see, so my special talent is no use; there are still words in there, though, that I can’t make ups or downs of. It’s altogether vexing.”

And losing you filthy lucre, Gin speculated inside. “… What’s in it for me?”

“Oh? Oh! A man of transaction, just as miss Akyuu has told it!” marvelled the printer’s daughter. “Well, here’s the long and short. I presume you’re versed in modern Japanese. Come by, then, if you find time; read those words at me until I’ve learned them. None simpler. I’ll pay you per troublesome page. It’ll be pocket money – but easy. Hmm? Well?”

Good heavens! Gin squirmed. It’s little Akyuu all over again.

“I’ll…” He peeked sidelong at his lady. Akyuu gave him the clerk’s reply, which was to say she made no eye contact and appeared very busy with her pen. “… I’ll take a typhoon check,” he decided.

“It’s a date,” beamed Kosuzu.

“… Yes, well, anyhow you chop that,” Gin replied; “if you’ll pardon, I’ll take my next course and leave you two to… whatever it was before I barged in. OK?”

Kosuzu’s eyes startled wide. “Oh! No, no. Never mind me! I’ve spoken my piece. We have a deadline, miss Akyuu?”

Akyuu made a sound that should have been more intimate to Gin than her. “… Yes, yes,” she muttered. “I shall have it down by the first; do not you lose out on your beauty sleep. All fine? Scoot, Kosuzu.”

“Scoot I will,” agreed Kosuzu. “I’ve a whole font table at home to scrub clean. Shiver. Good day, miss Akyuu. See you around, mister Gin.”

She’d said it. It wasn’t ahead Kosuzu had long shut the door behind herself, but there it dawned. She’d said “shiver” – and didn’t actually do it.

Gin faced the young mistress at her document-entrenched desk.

“That girl talks,” he complained, in the naïve manner of misunderstood geniuses.

The noble daughter of the Hieda crossed out a final figure in her ledger, sighed, dusted her hands, and stood up. All of this constituted a single, neat sequence, which culminated in the young woman dropping her ministerial façade. And when lady Akyuu dropped her façade before midnight, you knew drat well her patience was not far behind. Gin keenly scanned his mental processes ahead for insipid jokes to eject. He winced at the clatter they made.

Meanwhile, having thrown down her expensive pen, Akyuu rummaged beside her desk for the courier’s expectations. She found them in the uniform sheaf of unassigned lists – proving, perchance, that favourites weren’t something to play in lady Akyuu’s office – only to have. Gin approached to receive them with an expression of genuinely false compliance. Akyuu saw right through it.

“These,” she said, implacable as a weathervane on a windy night, “I need you to deliver to these addresses. Tell them somebody should be along in two hours to pick everything up. And that I shall kill someone if they forget to rebate us again. As for this—” she flapped a blue-marked chit in his face, “… Are you perhaps acquainted with the family who own the textile mill? On the big estate south-wise of the market?”

“Uh. Think I am,” Gin told the inside of the chit. “Those what raised hell over a spider youkai from under Moriya some ten-odd years ago? That it did in their clans-head or something?”

“I would have been too young to be told about it,” observed Akyuu, “but, I suppose yes. The crux is, they hired on a clothier this Winter – something they hadn’t done before, if you’ll believe. The woman’s proven something of an artisan; now, they cannot keep up with commissions. They haven’t the manpower to spare for running all over town with the ready pieces – thus, they’ve contracted ours. It’s simple, easy work, and she’ll only take you the rest of the afternoon. Your type, Gin.”

The jab could not have been more pronounced if Akyuu had put it in a spelling bee. Gin peeled the clothier’s plea from the front of his skull to see the young mistress swish her evidently stiff hips back to the writing table. A weary pause preceded her slumping down onto the piled-up cushions. Around her, a few sheets of paper sailed away on the opportune puff of air. Gin hoped they wouldn’t get into trouble about that.

Seated now, lady Akyuu swept the hair out of her eyes – and then peered up at her purported favourite errand boy, in that quaintly amused way she did whenever she expected him to be, well, himself.

“Something to add, Gin?” she asked, dense with expectation.

Gin purposed to meet it, if it damn near crushed him. “Actually—” he began.

( ) Were there more scenic jobs up for grabs? Maybe something left over from morning?
( ) Could he in any way take her mind off of whatever was stressing her out?
>>No. 39995
(x) Could he in any way take her mind off of whatever was stressing her out?
>>No. 39997
[X] Could he in any way take her mind off of whatever was stressing her out?
>>No. 39998
Gin is a faithful lad
[X] Could he in any way take her mind off of whatever was stressing her out?
>>No. 39999
(x) Could he in any way take her mind off of whatever was stressing her out?

Yamams already had her turn. Twice, in fact. This is an A9 lewd story.
>>No. 40000
(x) Could he in any way take her mind off of whatever was stressing her out?
>>No. 40001
[x] Were there more scenic jobs up for grabs? Maybe something left over from morning?
Really, guys?
>>No. 40002
(x) Were there more scenic jobs up for grabs? Maybe something left over from morning?

>>No. 40003
[X] Could he in any way take her mind off of whatever was stressing her out?
>>No. 40019
Gin's a good old boy; he's faithful. We already turned down Ichirin to stick with the Q, so let's not abandon her in her time of need.
[X]Could he in any way take her mind off of whatever was stressing her out?
>>No. 40031
File 157429818788.png - (3.29MB, 1536x2048, 55212190_p0.png) [iqdb]
(X) Could he in any way take her mind off of whatever was stressing her out?

“Actually—” said the courier, in his candidest voice. “Can I conceivably do anything for you, young mistress?”

The expectation dropped. Gin watched it trundle down lady Akyuu’s face. It was difficult to track the minutiae on such a schooled face as hers, but certain small muscles were set hastily once her lips began to inch open.

“… That,” she accused after a moment, “was your off-shift voice, Gin.”

“I was being off-shift,” he said off-shiftly. “That tanuki is way past rut and well into spinsterhood, young mistress. How do I kick it out? Any beating sticks?”

There was a bump in the conversational pavement as lady Akyuu’s less perfect aural memory was brought to the test. It re-treaded their morning exchange and located the tanuki in dispute.

“… Sadly,” she sighed – incredibly, not at the joke, “unless you mean to critically rearrange my biology, Gin, this tanuki is here to grow old. I have been afoul of a migraine ever since waking up; I may have been shorter with you for this reason. And then, there are those house business hiccups I have not yet smoothed over… Or had you perhaps noticed something was different today?”

“Nope. Nothing out of the routine,” said Gin. Then, conciliatorily, he added, “Sorry. I meant your shortness.”

Lady Akyuu’s royal purple eyes blinked. Then, her nose and tonsils conspired against the class gap and extracted from her a small, unrefined sound. The young noblewoman sneered up at her could-be-favourite with arch mirth.

“You make me laugh, Gin.”

The courier cocked a brow. “That was more of a snort, young mistress.”

Akyuu sketched a shrug. “Yes, well, belike I would pop a disc if I tried pulling you up to my level. Stooping seemed easier in contrast. Make no mistake, however; I do adore that about you. Make me laugh always, please.”

And there it was. The warm glow of ego initiating nuclear fusion. A girl two-thirds his age, and she rolled him back to late boyhood with fewer than ten words. There was a saying: “age is irrelevant, unless you happen to be a bottle of wine;” and, while a kind of alcohol in another world, Gin here was demonstrably not that. Strive though he might, currently, in overall colouration.

He did, therefore, feel a touch immature. Of course, he was a touch immature, but that didn’t make him feel any more mature about it. For cause of that, he slapped a palm over the big, blooming, red giant of a grin Akyuu’s compliment had fused on his face. That stellar accident contained, he dragged the hand, with apt theatrics, across his eyes, forehead, and through the matted coat of hair he’d scrupulously raised to keep his skull warm. He stared the cunning young lady down, who smiled knowingly in return – rather insinuating an exhaustive, evening course in Gin-astrology somewhen in her past.

“… You make my teeth ache, young mistress,” he surrendered.

“Sweets will do that to you,” said Akyuu, with an innocence that was quite possibly feigned. A lock of hair was swept behind an ear before the noble daughter of the Hieda decided to relent, “Verbal fisticuffs aside, I do appreciate the gesture, Gin. No, you may not do for me anything I would not have had my maids do already: herbal remedies and sucking mints included. It’ll pass when it does. If it does, however… would you, perhaps, do me the satisfaction and come here after I’ve folded for the day? I will have Vivi make us tea. We can sit and talk and… How was it said in your heyday – ‘ang around?

Gin forwent the accent, because it was embarrassingly close. Instead, he pointed out this: “You know I hate red tea.”

“Yes, it is one of your great follies. There are other kinds in the kitchens, Gin; don’t be simple. Will you or will you not risk those, do you reckon?”

Gin Akamatsu might be a runner for life, but away was only the conventional direction. Some things, you were meant to run into. “Yes, no, absolutely,” he sounded off, “I would love to.”

“Very well. That is bound to be a nice diversion…” Lady Akyuu trailed off, her smile flickering at something else come to mind. “Ah, and Gin…?” she added on. “If I were to say, ‘Do not get your hopes up’ – would that get your hopes up awfully?

Gin’s jaw squeaking open was the unthinking reply. A remainder of an echo of lady Akyuu moaning “Fuck me” rattled inside a secret compartment of his mind. He kicked it, and then himself – for inconspicuousness.

“It—” he spoke up, an avatar of self-control in everything but the name, “It would… not. Awfully.

Lady Akyuu handled the answer well under the circumstances, which included biting and then un-biting her bottom lip with such nimble speed it would have put a post office lady stamping envelopes at quarter-to-four in the afternoon to mortal shame. “… Well, it is at times prescribed,” she said, in the snide manner such ladies are wont to, “to take your tea bitter, so that the biscuits taste sweeter. With this in view… do not get your hopes up, Gin. Understood?”

He said, “Yes,” which was true. And then, “I’ll try, young mistress.” Which was not.

It proved good enough of a balance not to tip lady Akyuu’s mended mood. “I commend you luck,” she allowed. “And then, my favourite errand boy, you, I commend you to work. I’ve headaches aplenty to contend with without you distracting me. In more ways than one, come to think of it. Where are those mints…”

It’s a date, Gin aped in his head, because to do so aloud would be to tempt the wrath of all Hieda. He’d been in the process of screwing his cap back on when something stiff poked him in the thigh.

“… Uh, lady Akyuu?” he recalled. “A question?”

“Yes? What?” Akyuu called out from under the writing table, where, to all appearances, her remedies had escaped. “What is it?”

Gin stared at the cute, round butt thrust above the table’s edge. Then remembered the packet down his pocket. “Um. Any idea where a man could… market some gold in town?”

The butt froze – wiggled backwards – and commuted into a frowning face. “… Why?”

“Well,” Gin started, “a grandmother of mine recently passed the ghost, and—”

Akyuu’s brows barred off the rest of the sentence. “Your grandmother in the Outside World, I presume?”

“Oh, no. I meant— a grandmother of a friend of mine—”

Yes?” said lady Akyuu.

Gin licked his teeth. “… I do have friends, young mistress,” he protested. “I’ll have you know. We drink together every end of the week, remember?”

“That constitutes friendship? What a world. No, Gin. What is this about?”

The courier swallowed his painstakingly cooked-up excuse. It didn’t taste like chicken. No, sir-ee. “… Those youkai at Myouren’s,” he confessed, “had no money. They paid in shiny tit-bits instead.”

Lady Akyuu’s features softened in both sympathy and experience, while Gin clocked himself inwardly for the wordplay. Phooey; even his lesser part agreed.

A clear sheet of paper and a pen had in the meantime found their way into the young noblewoman’s hands, where she was now putting them to smart use. “Here,” she said, scribbling, “try at these metalworks and this trader. Should you want to name-drop the family, I am going to need a chitty back for our treasurer. Whatever you haggle is fine, only do consign the fee later. Otherwise—” she handed him the paper, “—I shall have to readjust the figures at the close of the day. And that, I fear, might cut into our… shall we say, appointment?”

Sternly, Gin pocketed the note. Then, conversely, he bowed. “Yes’m,” he said on the upswing. “‘Twill be done on the song. My oath.”

Akyuu’s replying look was a silent variation on the theme of You Had Better.
>>No. 40059
File 157471370535.jpg - (438.90KB, 1200x800, crossoversexistbeyondthegate.jpg) [iqdb]
Being Gin was, occasionally, like being gin. A girl could bring you along to a hen night, only to then drown you in inordinate amounts of tonic – or elsewise other, bitter stuff – with scant regard for the art of proportions. The thing with so-treated gin and tonic was, though, that afterwards everything there was usually no more tonic, but there was still a lot of gin. And that, an enterprising girl could take back home and nurse to sleep by herself. With lady Akyuu’s feeble insistence no such untoward things were in the offing, whatever bitter tasks she yet put Gin to became merely something to weather without going flat.

In streetwise vernacular, she’d bloody well bewitched him. He’d bloody well not minded.

The town’s cobblestone streets were congesting by the time Gin had parcelled out the requisite orders and threats. Not for Gensokyo’s people the dream of a Winter-long sit-down in front of a fireplace; even now, piles of clothing in the shape of men and women were marching up and down the alleys and thoroughfares, in contempt of frigid temperatures. They soldiered on as if it were a kind of warfare. It was carrying things, apparently, that went against the Gensokyan Convention.

The campaigning thinned as Gin swerved into a side-street flanked all along by a tall, redwood fence. A matching gate stood, flung wide open, about the middle of the estate, some hundred-odd yards farther down. Two hundred across, mused Gin. The Hieda clan may rank among the wealthiest in Gensokyo; wealth, however, only coincided often with girth. It didn’t cause it. How, then, a line of textile spinners had come into the occupancy of such a wide strip of land in the heart of a dense town was anyone’s fair guess but Gin’s.

Unaccosted by anyone, which oddly dashed his mood, the messenger strode past the open gate and onto the estate grounds. A broad driveway spread out in a die-straight line until a squat manor house another hundred yards distant, with family business arrayed on either side beneath open-walled sheds, roofed stalls and atop weather-worn bamboo pallets. A smattering of labourers in drab Winter robes was milling about, taking inventory. Whether it was of the merchandise or their own, doleful circumstance, counting bales of fabric out in the elements – was a perennial mystery.

A swift survey of the yard found it, however, clothesless. Unless, of course, the house’s new artisan meant for Gin to deliver the clothes with workers still inside them. That, he amused inside, would’ve smacked of another type of business altogether.

Cavalry arrived without a horse, armour or sword and in the unorthodox gender. A young woman, with inky hair tied up in a prissy bun, broke away from her work on the stockpile to approach the out-of-place Gin standing in her yard. There was a look of efficient competence worn over her high, bare forehead, where two more such looks could, if need be, fit without a strain. She couldn’t be called beautiful if Gin was squinting through the bottom of a tankard, but “plain” came close, if it was a wide, grassy plain, with a bunch of trees and a family of lions lounging in the shadow, waiting the inattentive gazelle to wander by.

“Sir? May I help you?” was the wary greeting.

And Gin thought he knew who the gazelle was. Of course, as any lion could tell you, the trouble with gazelles was that they tended to be quick on their feet as well as tasty. “Gin Akamatsu,” said Gin Akamatsu. “With the Hieda. I’m your runner today. Clothes or something – wasn’t it?”

There was a relaxing of leonine haunches. “Aah—” The woman nodded her recognition. “That. Yes. Well, you’ll want Yams for this.”

“Where do I get a hold of one?”

The joke glanced right off of her smooth forehead. Her robed shoulders jogged up and down in an expression of endless ignorance. “No clue,” she admitted. “The leggy thing’s all over these days. Mother’s wringing her for all she’s worth. Hold on for a tic. HEY, YOU BASTARDS!” The sudden shout turned heads all around the yard. Which was likely the intention. “Seen our blond genius around, have you? Anyone?”

A male worker, perched atop one of the sheds, yelled back, “Here! Saw her sidlin’ for the shack out back ‘bout a few ago!”

The woman at Gin’s side scowled thunderously. “The bleeding hell are you doing up there?!”

The worker saluted, very seriously. “Checkin’ for more blondes, miss Akari!”

“Cheeky monkey…” A shake of the head, and the alleged miss Akari swivelled back toward Gin. “Well, there you have it. Shack out back. Around the house and behind the hedgerow. There’s a wicket by the outer fence. Can’t get lost.”

The courier assumed a professional face. “… Could you not fetch her for me?”

“Me? Oh, mercy. I daren’t interrupt… well, whatever she’s busy with in there this time. Actually, she could do with a lesson. Yams’s a smart girl, but she’s a little thick in the naivete department. Among other places…”

“Sounding more genius by the hour, this Yams,” mocked Gin.

The woman called Akari gave him a slicked-down frown. “Her proper name’s Yamame,” she warned. “I’d advise against ‘Yams’ short of acquainting her first – ‘less you want on Naoto’s bullish side. That’s the main side, by the way, where Yams’s concerned.”

Yamame,” minced Gin. “… Why’s that tinkle a bell in my head?”

Akari shrugged it down. “You don’t ask; I don’t tell. Yams might, if she fancies. Wicket by the fence,” she repeated. “There’s thorns in the hedge, so don’t bloody leap it. OK? One moron athlete was enough. GOTCHER BLONDES, THEN?!”

That last demand had been trained at the worker on the shed, who bellowed back with good humour, “Not a one, miss Akari!”

Miss Akari squared her slim shoulders. “Then why’re you still looking?! Get down, before I yank you down like a dumbass apple!”

There were, in Gin’s second-hand observance, two schools of employering in the world. There was the loud, inquisitorial one, where management made themselves everybody’s problem and, therefore, no one’s. And then there was the heels-on-the-ground approach, where subordinates were treated as distinct human beings, making any and all attention from on-high pressing and personal. Lady Akyuu had learned this, and she directed her troupe of underlings with more or less intimate knowledge of their inner workings. And, equally important, failings.

Miss Akari was trying. There were evidently failings yet to be explored, however, as despite her stomping over with a thundercloud for a face, the fellow up on the roof insisted on becoming an apple.

Gin left them to the harvest.

There proved indeed to be a shack secreted away in the estate’s farther reaches, which Gin had traversed at no further expense to his pace, owing to the old, look-poised-to-share-responsibility ploy. It seemed the sort where a kind groundskeeper would put away their tools so as not to confuse the delicate sensibilities of their master: away from lordly eyes, wood and weeds all over and circled by a chest-high hedge of menacing holly. Gin considered at first the aforementioned leap, only for the pinkie-long thorns to provide a lifetime supply of second thoughts. The wicket felt suddenly not as threatening.

The courier slid past the rusted-through thing. He shut it behind him, padded for the most nearby window, peeked inside—

—and ducked under the windowsill on mercifully quiet knees.
>>No. 40062
File 157473441799.jpg - (243.67KB, 800x1089, 59463529_p1.jpg) [iqdb]
There were crates in the shack. There were motes of dust. There were rolls of closer unidentified material that could have been anything from old rugs to a misplaced original of Gogh’s Poppy Flowers. There was a rickety patio table with a bleached top.

And there was a couple making out on it.

Gin Akamatsu had an affair at work. Other people also had work. Therefore, it was not inconceivable that they would have had their own affairs. It was an ageless societal vogue which he, in his rush of responsibility, had forgotten. Gin stuck an eye over the sill. The couple, in dingy robes that would’ve blended them into the enterprise out front, was going at it without a change in enthusiasm. The man looked as though he’d tried, like a good son who eats his veggies, to outgrow the average doorframe, but due to an overweening survival instinct stopped a fraction of an inch short. The woman, with a bobbing, blond ponytail, could have been attempting the same – except sideways.

From his (disad)vantage behind the dirty glass window, Gin could discern the sides of their faces: flushed, breathless, occupied with nothing more than stuffing their tongues down each other’s mouths. The skirts of the woman’s robe were ridden up to her waist, displaying her large, plump derriere, which the man groped, squeezed and kneaded with such abandon, the back of her panties was eaten up completely by the now-nude buttocks. Gin almost jumped, in his hidden front seat, when the man clapped her solidly on one bared cheek, leaving the skin pink and the girl squealing in fright around his tongue. He spanked her again for this, and this time her whole body tensed and arched in masochistic glee. Her ass went from pink to cherry-red, to being smothered by the man’s paddle-sized palms.

There was a hint of squirming, and the two managed to peel away from each other long enough to exchange a handful of gasped, aroused confessions. The dumpy, blond Yamame (for it had to be her; the legginess miss Akari had mentioned left little room for tiptoeing) had but to scuff slightly backwards on his lap for it to become plain where her spare hand had been all along: down the man’s trousers, softly pumping up and down all the while they had kissed. She smiled now, slowed her tempo… and then gave him a burst of quick, hard strokes that had his legs bucking underneath her seat. Then, ahead their fun was brought up too short, Yamame let go – and jerked her perverted hand out into murky daylight.

While her big lover reclaimed his chipped composure, the bare-butted clothier raised her hand for examination. Without a kernel of visible shame, she stuck out her tongue and ran it up the inside of her palm. Her ruddy lover (and not only he) stared on, jaw agape, as she licked between her digits, lapped around the knuckles and sucked on each fingertip in turn. Once they were clean, and not a moment before, Yamame once more faced her man to show off the results of her nimble tongue-work.

Somewhere, a coin was dropped. Tempted beyond humiliation by the pudgy woman’s skills, the man sprang from the table, all but launching Yamame from his lap. There were no complaints (but for those of Gin’s internal cavemen when her robe spilled down over Yamame’s amazing rear); and by the time her lover skinned his underpants, the girl herself was down on her knees before him, ready to reapply her talents where they would feel the best. A dreamy, almost beatific smile blossomed out on her lips when his manhood was freed and stood at attention less than a handspan from her face. That handspan became no-span when Yamame scuffed forward and pressed her starry-eyed face against her lover’s meaty underside. She pursed her lips and pecked a loving smooch on its thick base, while the swollen tip parted her fringe and stuck out over her forehead.

It wasn’t easy for Gin not to compare, but a rogue thought did it for him anyway. If it’d been him measuring his endowment against Yamame’s face, he would only go from her chin to the bridge of her nose. At fullest mast. What veggies had this man been fed?

Whatever they had been, they hadn’t gifted him with self-restraint. A few grunted words rattled out of his chest, at which the girl worshipping his dick happily unrolled her tongue. She pressed it flat to his base, peered up into his eyes and, never once breaking the contact, dragged it up his whole, arching length – scooping up the precum from her earlier hand-job and leaving a sticky trail of saliva in her wake. At the top of her little world, Yamame paused to gulp down her bounty; meanwhile, down below, she ringed two fingers around her lover’s hard tool – and tugged. The man let fly a bearish groan when Yamame’s soft, practiced lips hugged around his most sensitive part. Her ponytail furnished the much-needed support, and he gripped it tightly in one fist as her mouth travelled down two-thirds of his length, then back up: slurping, sucking and keeping the head stripped the whole, obscene way.

The second trip lasted half as long, saliva and precum causing Yamame’s lips to slip with ease along her lover’s sturdy erection. The third went even smoother. So did the next. The blond woman rocked her head back and forth, scratching his naked thighs, sometimes moaning, sometimes screwing her mouth in tiny left-and-right motions as she pulled up, sometimes pausing to spit a glob of mixed body fluids onto her lover’s upright tool before resuming the sloppy blowjob.

It was the lewdest, most indecent, outrageous blowjob that Gin, freezing slowly in his hidden VIP spot, had ever seen. It was a wonder, no, two wonders, how the large man could endure a minute of Yamame’s expert oral sex, let alone running on three, let alone-alone after an edging, under-pants handy. He was either a veritable dick magician himself or…

… Or, Gin thought, he had got this kind of sex therapy every day, the bastard, and evolved a heightened resistance. The devil. The absolute, reprobate, super-lucky bastard.

Any way you stabbed it, that blowjob wasn’t ending any soon. Gin bunched his scattered faculties, took a deep, cooling breath, and—

—And had scarcely flexed a toe when the man’s voice rumbled from inside the shed.

On that cue, the loyal, obedient Yamame let his hard-on pop out of her loving mouth with a spurt of milky lubricant. Her fingers snapped to her robe, where they picked apart the sash. A simple, black lace bra winked from inside the gap, which Yamame lost no time in losing as well. There was a click (that could have been entirely in Gin’s imagination); and something huge was loosed inside the woman’s clothes. The relieved bra slithered to the floor as Yamame slowly, seductively parted the halves of her robe.

Two enormous, soft, mouth-watering breasts were unleashed on the unprepared world – and Gin’s even less prepared eyes. He’d seen breasts before. That couldn’t be taken away from him under torture. A gorgeous pair, even, no farther than this very morning. Not like these. Sister Ichirin’s breasts had been round and firm; Yamame’s were cushiony and magnetic: teardrop-shape, motherly things, with dark, almost brown nipples that stood perkily on the ends despite the slight overall sag. When Yamame hefted one, the flesh flattened deliciously against her palm and sank between her fingers. Gin sizzled with infinite envy for that palm.

These weren’t simply big tits. These were the primordial vision of the perfect tits that men would murder to get their oiled-up hands on. And raze a small-to-medium country to get their dick sandwiched between.

The courier hadn’t to wait longer than Yamame opening her mouth and spitting in her cleavage to realise he was about to bear witness to just such a momentous event. He crouched, riveted in place, the front of his trousers so stiff it offered to ram down the shack’s door if need presented. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought philosophically, eyes glued to the sight of the plump, blond sex-bomb rubbing her tits together. And then, with introspection, I should’ve gotten Ichirin to give me one too.

There was nothing else for him to do. Gin—

( ) Watched on… but someone was watching the watcher.
( ) CRASHED this rendezvous. With NO RELEASE.
>>No. 40063
(x) Watched on… but someone was watching the watcher.

Blueballs are for Hecka
>>No. 40064
(X) CRASHED this rendezvous. With NO RELEASE.

Stop being so lewd you two.
>>No. 40065
(X) CRASHED this rendezvous. With NO RELEASE.

We are a man with a mission and we ain't gonna let two lewd lovebirds stop us from accomplishing it, dammit!
>>No. 40066
( ) CRASHED this rendezvous. With NO RELEASE.

We are Gin Akamatsu, and we have shit to do today!
>>No. 40067
(x) Watched on… but someone was watching the watcher.
Voyeur H
>>No. 40068
(x) CRASHED this rendezvous. With NO RELEASE
>>No. 40069
(X) Watched on… but someone was watching the watcher.

Who could it be?
>>No. 40070
File 157478953612.jpg - (57.22KB, 680x680, 77058529_p0.jpg) [iqdb]
This here is a mad cross-porn-over story. You can probably hazard a guess, eh dull man?

Also, hard as I am sticking to my guns, I have to wonder what some of you even read this story for…
>>No. 40071
[x] Watched on… but someone was watching the watcher.
"EBIN PORN DODGING XDDDDDD" stopped being funny after the first time, guys.
>>No. 40075
(x) CRASHED this rendezvous. With NO RELEASE
>>No. 40076
(x) Watched on… but someone was watching the watcher.

Come on people, pretty sure not interrupting ya boi gettin some booty ranks pretty high up on the bro code.
>>No. 40077
(x) CRASHED this rendezvous. With NO RELEASE.
>>No. 40084
Calling it, before yet someone else decides to chime in and re-launch the tie train.
>>No. 40095
File 157514002016.jpg - (177.44KB, 787x900, the other one.jpg) [iqdb]
(X) CRASHED this rendezvous. With NO RELEASE.

Gin was through-and-through a man, and a man wasted not.

As he told himself this, his dick and his tact fought for space in the focus. His dick walked away with a parting eyeful of Yamame’s awesome, brown-tipped teats, searing the scene into the back of his retinae for later contemplation. His tact, meanwhile, walked away with his body: scrabbling on all fours, until he was certain not to be spotted by the two debauchees inside as he pushed back to uprightness. With courier-drilled speed, he withdrew to the wicket, whereat he, with courier-drilled obtrusiveness, jostled it on its hinges.

Rusted pins made love to rusted sockets, screaming like damned souls at Nine Inch Nails gig. Gin banged it close, not without an ugly undertone of vengeance, before plodding around the shack’s windowless flank in a quest for a door. Once one issued from the ubiquitous moss, the courier once again put all his expertise at the tips of his fingers. Or knuckles, as it were in this instance. The knock turned out at a nice, obnoxious bass.

There were sounds of anxious scuffling from within. There was the rumpus of someone being shoved into an empty cabinet, and the hushed exclamation of someone else refusing to be pulled along. And last, there was the clatter of doors being shut, thankfully on nothing delicate, and a rush of sandaled feet. Something heavy was dragged aside from the egress. Gin adamantly didn’t speculate the purpose – or in fact the sense – of the precaution.

“Sorry, yes, I am here,” came a flustered reassurance. “This is in the way… S—Sorry, there was this really pretty curtain lying around, and I just had to—”

The door pitched open, ejecting a contrite at first, but then bewildered Yamame. The blond clothier had done up her habit; to Gin, however, who’d seen what she’d been up to, against and underneath, the attempt at propriety was thinner than chiffon. The collar of her robe had to be clasped by hand so as not to split from the pressure of her unrestrained breasts; her face was agleam with exertion and sweat and, perhaps most tellingly, there was no curtain that could have made even a dyed-in-the-wool couturier blush this deep of a red. If any doubt could be had of Yamame’s state, it would only be whether she’d narrowly avoided a pregnancy or merely a bad breath. In brief, she looked even sexier in a frown and dishabille. As if she was begging someone to finish the job – but not you.

The lips that had been polishing her lover’s man-meat not five moments before now set into a brittle, sceptical smile.

“Um,” she said, drawing back, almost leaving the smile awkwardly in the air. “You aren’t—”

“Gin Akamatsu,” spoke routine, smashing aside both wit and cynicism. It seized his eyes halfway to Yamame’s almost-cleavage and tossed them over her shoulder, where no signage of a man in similar disarray was presenting. Which had been, perhaps, the point. “… With the Hieda. I’m a runner. Here for some, uh, clothes?”

Three flutters of the wide, mistrusting eyes, and a flash of recognition fried the uncertainty away. “Oh. Oh! The dresses, right! I’ve waited for days for those to be picked up, you know? Mother then got the idea to have them delivered, only no one with a lay of the town could be spared, since we’re clearing out stocks before the solstice festival, and—” At this juncture, the enthused beauty realised she wasn’t taking her audience with her. “Ah, wait, no,” she whined, as though the courier was apt to up and run off unburdened with merchandise, “I mean, yes, but this is probably not your hunt— um, your business, yes? You want the dresses. Mother, that is, Naoto’s mother, she had them all readied. They’re in the indoor magazine. J—Just let me get this—” here, she eased the shack door shut, “and, and follow me, OK?”

As any interrogatory “OK” uttered by female lips, this one, too, proved unnegotiable, and the naughty clothier hurried for the wicket without Gin’s express consent. Not that one was indispensable; Yamame, he sensed, could “OK” a greater man into lower things with ease. A faint tremor of dread, as that of being watched, plummeted between Gin’s shoulder blades as he turned to follow Yamame’s (regrettably clothed) rear out of the derelict enclosure. He resisted peeking back, not least because meeting the eyes of a man whose dick he’d so recently seen would have smacked of dropped soap and communal showers.

In but a handful of shakes (rendered generously by Yamame’s ample hips), the courier had been led to a side entrance in the manor house, bade to wait, chilled, and lastly treated to the sight of Yamame lugging a bamboo carry-rack stacked with canvas-and-twine-wrapped packets. There was a name and an address stippled onto each, the clothier would explain, and some of these were fabulous pieces indeed: with basques and sequins and gimps and other fancy words that could have pricked up Lady Akyuu’s ears, but only plinked off of Gin’s.

He shook Yamame’s hand on the deal (only recalling later where said hand had lately been), vowed not to tell a soul where he’d found her, hoisted the rack onto his back, and set out again for the estate’s cordially open gates.

He hadn’t rounded them when he was checked in his tracks once more.

“Nice clobber, gin man. Whistle-whistle and so on. Long-time no drink, huh?”

A sigh of chilly, Winter wind brought the voice to him, over the echo of a warm Summer night, the colour of gold and far many more cups than would have been advisable. Gin’s brain dredged it up: half a year distant, a marinaded echo of a night out with those friends so derided by lady Akyuu, siphoning ale like lemonade and disbursing their monthly worth at a tavern in the seedier ward of the town. And there, the olive in the pickled memory, was a girl in the brightest, flashiest getup Gin had ever been blinded by, prying their tight-knit group with a joke and a cocky smile and wedging herself into the gap with nary an objection from the members. She’d been passably cute, funny, and they’d had the money. She’d drunk them under the table one by one, a head of lead under a waterfall of jet hair, until only Gin, in his dubious achievement, had remained.

And then, she’d artlessly implied quieter environs would be appreciated for the remainder of the night. Gin, who could detail few things from there on, had volunteered his private quarters at what Gensokyo’s township had come to refer to as the bachelors’ yard. It’d be cramped, he had joked, but with some sweat they could both slide in. They had, too; and Gin had managed to entertain an even sweatier idea before the girl had confessed something that’d hurled the notion out the window.

That she was a youkai. A tsuchigumo, an earth spider, from the Underworld. A menace from far below the Goddesses’ Mount, here on some unspecified business concerning her species.

No chaser of “I won’t bite if you don’t” could have roped up the defenestrated thoughts of hanky-panky, however; and Gin had spent the weest hours of the morning pouring lukewarm drinks for a creature that could have worn his fingers on a necklace, yet appeared content lounging on his bed and griping away on her personal woes. So confounded had he been that, come sunrise and goodbyes, he’d succumbed to daring and given her cheek a friendly kiss.

The earth spider had smiled (rather timidly, he’d fancied) and kissed his in return. He hadn’t met her since.

Until, evidently, now.

Well, I did allude to her to sister Ichirin, so calling the thunder may apply, thought Gin, but carefully. Some youkai took offence to superstition, goofy as it might be, and it wasn’t wise to row with one in the open. The odds were apt to drown you. Surprise had to rule, even if it was edged with a “kuwabara” or two.

“Ashi?” the courier volunteered. “Yeah, blast, long-time… What’re you doing here?”

The earth spider named Ashi, who was not inside her sparkling, gold-scale dress, but a black, crimson-streaked kimono fit for any moody enough town-girl, ignored the overtone of demand in the question. In fact, she ignored the question altogether, tonal attributes notwithstanding, and pushed away from the wall she’d been shoring up.

“Working hard, are we?” she asked, eying the rack asway over Gin’s shoulders.

“Working,” Gin conceded. “About to go on a grand old tour of the town by the earmarks. Why?”

Ashi’s narrow, slanted eyes narrowed even more under the weight of poorly worn modesty. “Mind if I tag along, gin man?”

Yes, I needed anotheryoukai encounter inside the day, Gin reflected. Which his mild disposition translated as, “Sure, if you can keep up. I want this done before the evening’s out, so I’ll be burning rubber. Working – remember?”

“I’ve smelt worse,” Ashi assured him, very seriously. “And I can burn things too, no big deal. Youkai – remember?”

Wish I had, thought Gin, the sensation of the spider-girl’s decidedly un-chitinous cheek seeping from his memory. “Well. It’s your funeral if we run headlong into the Hakurei.”

“It’s yours if we run headlong into a lamp post,” Ashi countered. “How’s that bump, by the way? Healed yet?”

“It’s had half a year. I don’t even look like an Oni when I take off the cap anymore.”

Ashi sniggered. “Those bleeding Oni. Which way, gin man?”

“Over the hill first,” said Gin. “I’ll have to see where next from there.”

“All right. I want to have a gander at the school house. Let’s swing by it, OK?”

Gin winced. And then, he set off at a familiar trot down the cold cobblestone streets.

As she had said it, Ashi turned out to be a sharp follower: weaving around people where Gin had to slow and pull over, and whisking her shorter legs where he stretched his. There was a saying: “walk softly and hire a shrine maiden with a big stick,” but the small, fleet-footed youkai seemed to do fine with only a half of the old folk insight. Talking, nevertheless, was a contingence that couldn’t quite land until they had veered off the main thoroughfares and onto one of the less trodden side-alleys. There, Gin finally gave voice to a factoid that had been paddling around the creek of his mind with confused helplessness.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he noted.

The whole four-and-a-half foot of girl bouncing beside him shrugged. “Haven’t been around in a while.”

The courier snorted his reply. That was the thing he’d learned quickly with Ashi once they had been alone: that the spider-girl only talked at length about things she had a lot to talk about. Those she didn’t, she… well, didn’t. In a better world, that would have been a virtue.

“… What gives?” prompted Gin, who lived instead in this one.

Ashi diced her answer, which was then offered up in small, succinct chunks. “There was an accident. Guy who speaks for us dropped out of evidence for a while. Weren’t anybody else to get us jobs up here. Things’re spinning back on now, so I came around to check on… someone.” There was a derisive sigh. “She’s well off enough without me, though. And you? What’ve you been up to, gin man?”

“On the universal scale? Nothing much,” admitted Gin. “Today? Well, I had me a nice jog to the Myouren temple—”

Myouren!” spat Ashi. And it was quite a decent spit, possibly one you could shine an entire boot with. “Hate the place. Has the head priestess scooped that broom out of her arse yet?”

Gin couldn’t stave off the grin. He remembered now why he’d liked Ashi. There were no stops on the girl; if she had something to say, you couldn’t hang up an etiquette she wouldn’t blithely scribble all over. Whether that came with being a youkai or with being Ashi specifically was one of the rare things she wouldn’t tell. It made Gin want to tickle her.

Tickle, he mused, right… “Well,” he said aloud, “as luck had it, I did without looking up her skirt. The delivery was for someone else.”

Ashi made a ward against evil with her hands – and somehow didn’t pop out of existence. “Yeah, lucky’s right,” she said. “Gods above, but I loathed working with that woman. I’d lose count of the bleeding times she tried to help every day…”


“It should be. And this thing?” She jabbed a thumb at the courier’s workload. “From that sod-off big place we met at?”

Gin snapped the straps against his chest. “And a-one, and a-yup,” he exhaled. “Not very bad, all in all, since it’s just clothes. Weird, though.”

“How so?”

“Oh, it’s a courier-y thing,” Gin explained. “They were blasted well organised for first-timers. Usually, new clients only grunt and moan when pressed for finer points. Like, say, the recipient’s address. When lady Akyuu— er, that is, my employer – when she briefed me, I imagined I’d have to slowly talk the walk over before I could walk it. But, no. All I had to do was stroll in and look lost. Got asked a few questions, got some directions—”

“And got to peep on my hot sister?” suggested Ashi, conversationally.

Gin froze mid-stride.

( ) “Gods, yes.”
( ) “Your what? No!”
>>No. 40096
(x) “Gods, yes.”
>>No. 40097
my one wish for this upcoming interaction is that ashi gets flustered at least once
(x) “Gods, yes.”
>>No. 40098
[x] “Gods, yes.”
never not fat spider
>>No. 40099
(x) "Who???"

But the fact that Gin inadvertently stopped already tells Ashi enough, no matter what we answer.
>>No. 40100
(x) “Gods, yes.”

Ashi a cute
>>No. 40112
File 157533004338.jpg - (507.26KB, 620x876, and another one.jpg) [iqdb]
(X) “Gods, yes.”

He thawed a moment later, auspiciously still inside the same year. His feet rolled over into the next tread as if the obstruction had never been there, and Gin trawled the seas of his personal history for something even more embarrassing to mellow the allegation, like his briefs getting nicked by a fairy to be repurposed as a hat. That did semi-nicely, and he felt semi-better about rising to Ashi’s bait regardless of the visible hook.

“… Gods, yes,” Gin’s reply swirled out from between his lips. The prick was short and the bait was sweet, and he went on to sigh, “Yes. Yes, I did…”

Ashi didn’t even wrench the rod. This was the prettier side of the petite earth spider’s ugly underbelly: that you could tell her anything. Honesty, of the blunt type, was her weapon of choice; and she had no complaints for being hit with the same. In fact, she pointedly turned the other cheek. A pithy “Hmf” was her harshest criticism.

“Hmf,” Ashi gave it now, though Gin couldn’t be positive at what exactly. Its vast inaccuracy was its main design fault.

The courier coughed up the rest of the delicacy stuck in his airways. “OK,” he said, as impotent as the magic letters felt in his mouth. “I must know. How did you…?”

“I was peeping too,” said Ashi, who wouldn’t know delicacy if she ate one. “I’d been up in a tree out front, waiting for Yams to turn out, when you waltzed in and started slinging questions around. I heard about the shack and got there before you. I was on the roof.”

“The… roof?”

“There was a skylight,” the spider-girl clarified. “It had a wide view of everything. Including this guy hunkered at a window. I was about to join you and share impressions when you upped and made a commotion.”

That gave rise to a world of afterthoughts, so Gin decided he hadn’t heard it.

He did, however, hear what Ashi wished to know next.

“So. How was she, in your opinion?”

Gin choked. There had been a sneaky chunk of delicacy left. “You—” he spluttered. “Why ask me?! Go and ask her man!”

“Her man makes my fangs itch,” grumbled Ashi. “He’d tell Yams, too, and that could put a fire under my seat. If Yams didn’t burn of shame first, anyhow. That girl has a self-image problem from here to Moriya.”

Could have flipping well missed me, thought Gin. “… And? What did you want me to say for it?”

“I want you to tell me,” said Ashi, “if she looked good to you. Keep up.”

The courier hesitated. “Her body or…?”

Something that could have been jealousy, if jealousy took an anger management class, crawled beneath Ashi’s reply. “… I know she has a great body,” she admitted. “I’ve got eyes. I meant her handiwork. Or mouth-work, or what-have-you. The stuff she did with them.”

“So, her skills?”

“Yup. Skills. This’s a decent term.”

Gin gazed dead ahead as he replied, “… They seemed fine.” He said the words as if pulling them out with pliers. “Yeah. Nothing to fault. Good motions. Just really, really fine.”

Ashi brimmed with scepticism. “That’s your big takeaway? Just fine?”

There were only so many bushes to beat around for a man with no more delicacy, and Gin had tripped over his last. He ground to a stop, casting glances up and down the alley, which no one cast back, as it happened, on account there was no one to do so. Ashi was the only other pair of eyes present, and hers weren’t ones to glance. They were to stare at you in that faintly mocking way women did when they knew you were about to dig your own grave.

Gin didn’t care. He felt his ancestors ready to kick their heredity all the way from afterlife, but clenched his buttocks. “No!” he wheezed. “Of course not, it looked fucking amazing! OK? If it were me, I wouldn’t have lasted a fucking minute! Gods…” A freeze-frame of Yamame’s frothy lips smooching her lover’s exposed glans reeled behind the voyeur courier’s eyes. It was pursued by the motion clip of those same lips shaping an angelic smile before being wrapped around the shaft and glided neatly all the way down to the base. At that point, Yamame had almost surely to have been taking the excess length she couldn’t cram in her mouth into her throat. It would have anyway excused the copious amount of drool she’d leave all over it afterwards. And it’d still been her bulky lover who’d had to pull her back up said length by the blond ponytail. There, in that dusty storage shed, had been the exceptional woman who would not only blow you, but love every little moment of the slip and slide herself. A pervert’s treasure. “Takeaway?” scoffed Gin, aflush and rather less than composed. “Grade A, your sister is a fucking sexpot, my standards are spoiled forever. And, blast it, I’m going to dream about those tits,” the threw in, not without rancour. “That about what you wanted to hear?”

Although she was half a town afar, Gin could see an overlay of lady Akyuu on the slow, studied way Ashi folded her arms underneath her meagre chest. “… Not,” she supposed, “in so many words, but maybe? I don’t dis-agree, at least. It worked me up too.”

“Oh, good,” the courier breathed easier. “Then we’re in the same library, if not on the same page.”

“I don’t even find the dull man that appealing most days,” Ashi pondered aloud, “but when he took that monstrous thing out… That made me tingle.

“It was a big monster,” Gin allowed, doing his best not to think too hard about it. “Ate up a lot of maidenheads, I bet.”

“And then Yams ate it up.”

That, he did think about. “And how.”

“Like a delicious treat,” supplied Ashi. “My dear sister always gets the best ones. It makes me bleeding green.”

“… Uh, Ashi?” said Gin, who’d flipped his brain on and off so much, the switch now seemed hardly to do anything. “I’ve got a question? When you say ‘sister,’ do you mean…?”

The spider-girl gave a lazy shrug which, despite her arms propping it up, did very little for her bust. “Not literally, but we are the same thing. Yams’s older, though. One of the oldest there are.”

Somewhere in the nether realm, Gin heard his ancestors shop for heavier shoes. “Ca-pi-tal,” he said, sarcasm bleeding between the cleft syllables. “So, I got excited for a girl who’s in a relationship, a blasted youkai and an old lady besides. Could I plummet any lower today?”

Ashi gave him a half-smirk. That meant that the smirk dimpled her (what, he knew, was a very smooth-feeling) right cheek, while her left remained perfectly flat. “Sure. Nothing easier.”

“And I would go about it, how, if I dared?”

The smirk didn’t move. Neither did Ashi. “Get excited for a slightly younger, blasted youkai, who isn’t in a relationship.”

“… And then what?” asked Gin, in fluent if somewhat halting hypothetical.

“Take her out for an evening drink and a stroll around town.”

“… And later?” Gin pressed on, because Ashi was just that kind of conversation.

“Walk her back to your place.”


“Shutter the windows, bolt the door and show her what’s so fun about eating a man’s monster,” she finished, to the numb shock of Gin and the mild delight of his “monster,” which had never been called such ahead now.

There was an appellation for a man who considered sex with girls half his size and apparent age, but Gin had stuffed it in a dictionary and bound the covers shortly after pulling himself out of lady Akyuu for the last time. A youkai with a young appearance proposing to learn oral sex on him twisted the definition at a strange angle. A strange, dangerous and dangerously thrilling angle.

“All… right,” said Gin, speaking like a man with a monster faced with a monster-eating one. “First of everything… We’ve gone halves on one cup, so you’re a friend where I’m interrogated. I’ve got to ask, though, youkai or no… Why?”

The petite earth spider didn’t smile flirtatiously in reply. She didn’t tip her head in a coy way or draw her silky, black hair behind an ear. She didn’t give the courier a flighty, sidelong gaze. Whether she didn’t do these things because she couldn’t or because she wouldn’t remained a speculation. “As you said, gin man,” she declared instead, “we’re friendly on each other. That’s enough to bed down together, innit?”

“Yes, blast it,” said Gin, not adding: if your morals are pliable and no malice is aforethought, “but why do you want to—

“I do what I do; I want what I want,” Ashi chimed in. “I do not always do what I want, but I always want what I do.” And then, when the courier’s expression turned out a blank, “That was a play on words; you are supposed to think I’m clever and listen.”

Gin wrung his neck left and right. “No, you listen, clever girl. What is it that you want, here? No hard feelings, but I’d prefer a solid why if I’m to hop in a bed with a youkai.

There was a conscientious moment as the spider-girl readjusted the weave of language to contain her labyrinthine inner world. “… I want to see,” she knitted out at length, “whether I can do the things my dear sister can.”

“Meaning what?” challenged Gin. “Sex? Your wondering alone should be a tell, shouldn’t it?”

And there it was. Another flare of emerald envy in the otherwise carmine eyes. “Yams’s the bleeding blond star of the Underworld, don’t mistake it,” Ashi insisted. “I’d need three more lifetimes’ worth of experience to look her level in the eyes. It’s infuriating, and it’s true, and it’s infuriating because it’s true. But if I can match her in the smaller, easier ways… the human ways… then that might just be enough for me. For this lifetime, anyway.”

“You sound plenty human to me,” offered Gin.

“It’s not about what you think, gin man,” Ashi shot him down. “It’s about me. I’m an earth spider and a female; we are selfish creatures, earth spiders and females. Look. I’ll be putting my mouth and tongue on and around your monster, so it ought to be fun on your end too. I’ll even take directions. Actually, I’ll expect directions. That’s a rare break, ordering an earth spider around. Only met one other man who has. Consider it.”

Gin omitted to say he’d already been considering putting her on and around his monster when they’d been first acquainted, because he and his monster had a tacit understanding. What it was strictly that they understood tended to shift with the tide; presently, however, they were in full agreement that becoming Ashi’s practice dick wasn’t the most gallant course of action. It could be damn hot, but it wasn’t gallant. And it wouldn’t do for Gin to skive off on his appointment with lady Akyuu, whom he vainly coveted, just for the privilege of teaching a curious spider-girl how to give deepthroat like her pro of a sister. It wouldn’t do to peel off Ashi’s kimono and grope that tight, little butt while she got him all hard and slippery. It wouldn’t do at all to get her drunk on the leftover gin and show her what happened to petty youkai who toyed with man so.

There was a subtle and insidious change in tide on the Gin archipelago, and he braced his oars.

“… You are the second youkai to harangue me for sexual favours today, did you know that?”

Ashi wasn’t one to be dissuaded by competition. “Am I going to be the first that gets them?”

He hadn’t to ask how she’d guessed it. He imagined it was painted all over the front of his trousers or, as it were, not painted all over it. He smoothed it down, then issued his ultimate argument. “… OK. Sorry, this’ll seem weak after all that, but… Tonight is bad, at any rate. I’ve a date booked. With an important woman. Very, very important. I don’t lie when I say I may not eat next month if I skip it. So…”

Ashi, the passably cute, small, sharp-witted Ashi, was as impressionable as a slab of concrete on a sandbank. “Then let’s go right now,” she proposed, with spiderlike speed. “Let’s hand over this all-important first package and take a break at your place.”

“I’m kind of on a time here, Ashi,” said Gin, which wasn’t false but certainly an embellishment. “I’d mentioned that, hadn’t I?”

The earth spider rolled her eyes at the crystalline sky. “I’m a go-doer myself, gin man; I know a quick breather can do wonders for productivity. Yams knows this. You saw it. And she’s a bleeding workhorse. Truth be told, I’d wager my wages she and dull man are mating as we speak. I’ve never known Yams to leave unfinished work. And if you’ll be a good man and help me,” she said slyly, “I’ll finish yours too. Quick and clean. Shall I?”

Gin licked his teeth. His arguments were crumbling around his ears. Ashi stood before him, as calm as could be, with a hammer in each hand.

There was but space enough between them for one conclusion to slip through.

( ) Quickie with the minor spider-girl!!!
>>No. 40113
(x) Quickie with the minor spider-girl!!!
>>No. 40114
[x] Quickie with the minor spider-girl!!!
Memes will probably overtake this vote too, but here's hoping.
>>No. 40115
(x) Quickie with the minor spider-girl!!!
>>No. 40116
(x) Quickie with the minor spider-girl!!!

As much as I love watching Yaf complain about how his readers avoid the porn when he personally gives them the choice to do so, I think this meme has gone for a bit too long. Let's give our MC and our author some slack.
>>No. 40117
While I did think we should save ourselves to unleash a titanic nut on Akyuu later, I also think that if we fall for anyone, it should be this cool spider girl
[X] a quickie with the minor spider girl!!!
>>No. 40118

do not cheat on gin's waifu with some no name OC! if you're gonna cheat it might as well be with a real touhou lol
>>No. 40119
File 15754801363.png - (1.52MB, 1200x1600, 78141076_p0.png) [iqdb]
The gentlemen shall now pick up the designated arms...

For the first time, I suppose there is no need to call the vote. That it is on something like this, though, makes me scratch my head.
>>No. 40128
File 157582450063.jpg - (136.43KB, 716x1024, ELBtQprU4AAYZU4.jpg) [iqdb]
(X) Quickie with the minor spider-girl!!!

And the conclusion was something about horses and teeth, which felt to Gin ominously appropriate. Well, he thought, we all have a skeleton in the closet – even if it was a human one, not a horse’s, and carried, as it were, close to heart.

He sucked in a lungful of the chilly air. Then, he breathed out all of it in one capitulated, “… OK.”

Ashi gave him an affirmatory nod. It was void of conceit or even a smile of redress. For a creature dressed in flash and bluster, victory was by itself a full course for Ashi. It didn’t need to be spiced with her opponent’s ire. Her way was reward enough. The courier, who’d assented to her whims, was therefore given free leave to stare at her and stew, which he, with sufferance, did. Ashi’s lips were pulled in a thin, colourless line, and Gin’s ears heated up at the guilty thought of what he would be subjecting them to before long. Something else then began to draw blood too, and it knew no word like “guilt.” “To the hilt” was the next closest sound, and Gin had reasons to be leery of its chances. Those were small lips and a small mouth, and Ashi’s throat would have its task cut out for it if they were to proceed.

In a continuing streak of weakness, Gin vowed to his neighbour downstairs that he would get her to at least try. And then, in a bid not to give the petite earth spider the satisfaction she scorned anyway, he cautioned, “A change or two to the roadmap, though. First, this parcel. Afterwards, there’s another for nearby and then the next is somewhat in the direction of the bachelors’ blo— er, where I live. We hand these three in, then we swing around my place for that… breather. Oh, and no drinking. Let’s head off what accidents we can. Cool?”

“Ice-cold,” agreed Ashi. “On a second think, I do want a clear noggin for it. Soak up the lesson and everything.”

“And everything?” Gin repeated, slanting a brow.

It could have been a trick of the sound, sound being infamously a carrier of such, but there seemed to be a defensive note in Ashi’s voice when she said, “It’s an experience, gin man. Yanno?”

To his dwindling credit, the courier didn’t smile. “Uh-huh. I-no.”

“Had my qualms,” the spider-girl shot back. “Anyhow, let’s bunk off of that and go give out those dresses, ah? Yams’s prone to tear things back apart when they don’t find new owners. The girl’s such a stickler, it makes my blood boil.”

Gin Akamatsu had not been born yesterday, or even as near as the previous week, and abstained from remarking on the shift in the topic.

Soon afterwards a courier with a dainty spider-youkai in tow was scrambling up the staircase of a two-storey boarding house whence he, since years now lost to hangovers and irrelevance, had been studying the darker wedges of the clockface. Impeding the rumour mill with such obvious stealthiness it was bound to unbalance any practiced snitch, the two slipped past one of the unmarked doors and into a narrow, cosy room, wherein, barely contained, were the amenities of Gin’s life: a shoe-rack, a desk with the grafted function of a dining table, a pair of rickety chairs, a coal stove doubling as a heater, a bed and a cabinet close at hand, Gin being of the popular persuasion that a bachelor who had to walk more than four steps from the bed to the bar was a sad bachelor indeed.

The courier heeled off his Winter boots, advised his guest to follow suit, and then moved on to check on the stove. Satisfied the coals were aglow and the chimney wasn’t poised to chuff soot, Gin wiped down his hands, wormed out of his baggage, and did what unmarried men did when they came home off work. Which was to say, he threw himself bodily on the bed precluding so much as unbuttoning his coat.

Hihi’irokane was said to be the mythic Flame-Coloured Metal, but it would have paled beside Ashi’s eyes when Gin rolled onto his back. It would have bent around her tolerance as well, if the courier hadn’t taken the cue and fanned out his arms in a silent invitation. The black-robed, jet-haired spider-girl gave an acquiescing nod and skittered forth. Instinct (or a memory her sister’s know-how) spoke, and Ashi edged up on her knees: first onto the bed, then over Gin, finally to settle down astride him with the slim, acrobatic legs hugging his sides. The pressure of her firm butt atop his waist was so mild, she could as well have weighed no more than, say, a sack of salt. For some reason, Gin found this aspect of her body very comforting. There was something equally heart-warming in the way Ashi returned his scrutiny: calm, curious and tense, somehow all at once. And even if the minor earth spider hadn’t a half of her blond sister’s overwhelming allure, she could cause a man’s chest to wring with such a look. She was small and clever and pleasant to look at, and Gin acknowledged inwardly he really, really enjoyed having her where she was.

It was perhaps a funny sentiment, what with her being a youkai; nobody, however, had said men had to be rational at all times. A bit of fun every now and again went a long way towards sanity, except when someone was having it with you without your go-ahead, which fairly tended to be the case with youkai.

Ashi, of course, had promised to reciprocate, and Gin had more than gone her ahead, so he felt naught except boyish anticipation when he held up one of his hands. Ashi, puzzled and amused in balance, married her own to it, squeezing and lacing their fingers together. Spoiling the overall marks, hers were colder and stiffer than an ice-fairy’s nipples.

“A touch chilly, are we?” asked Gin.

The spider-girl peeked at their clasped hands. “Am I? I don’t feel it.”

“You are. It feels like a bunch of tiny icicles.”


“Could be a youkai thing,” Gin guessed. “Could not. Anyway. Shall we warm up a tad before…?” He let their distinct imaginations fill the gap in and possibly stretch it beyond repair.

“… If you insist,” supposed Ashi.

Gin sensed a surprised resistance once he began to pull on the spider-girl’s captured hand, and it was certainly not to do with propriety. It was after the courier had groped beside them for a blanket and thrown it over them both that Ashi yielded, lying down lengthwise him and letting the shroud fall. There, in the ensuant darkness, Gin Akamatsu sighed right contentedly; for if he were to be funned with by a youkai after all, it would at least be under one that felt good to be under. Ashi’s slight, lightweight figure was spread all along his front, easily raised and lowered as his breath came and went. The top of her inscrutable head bobbed up under Gin’s chin when the spider-girl flexed her back, and try as he might (which amounted to “not very hard”), he could not deny himself a whiff of that satiny, midnight-black hair. It didn’t smell like much but what his brain creatively labelled “Ashi.” He wondered if she smelled the same everywhere.

That academic interest was pushed out by reasserting delicacy, which led him to ask the crown of Ashi’s head, “… Comfortable?”

Lady Akyuu shook her head at Gin from inside his imagination for borrowing her own mannerisms to use on another girl, and in work hours to boot. Gin patted her down like a cute, but bothersome kitten.

Ashi, who hadn’t partaken in the private exchange, pondered her circumstance. “… Could be worse,” she decided. “It smacks of you in here. Or did you know?”

The courier’s humour curdled in his mouth. “Well. Sorry. I sleep and laze about here when I haven’t any place better to be. So…”

The spider-girl made an ugly sound into his collar. “… I didn’t say it was a bad smack,” she chided. “I’ve no idea how to phrase it without disturbing you, but… it’s tempting. Not as in I want to eat you; more as in I want this smell on me. Around me. I want to smell it. I hadn’t featured it would feel this way, but here is it.” There was a brief pause. “From the fact you aren’t running away, I’m assuming that made some sense?”

“Shockingly,” replied Gin, “a lot.”

“Nice. Then I’m already learning something,” said Ashi, and there was absolutely no undercurrent of relief beneath the statement, not on this youkai’s pride. What there was, was a prompt indulgence of the newfound inclination. Ashi’s spare hand delved inside Gin’s collar until finding the buttons, whereat it tugged them loose to make a path for her inquisitive nose. He felt it brush the skin above his left collarbone and rued not taking the care to reduce the number of layers between him and the spider-girl ahead of dragging her under the covers. Ashi, nestling pleasantly, spoke between deep draughts of her new treat. “… And you, gin man? Anything you like to do to girls like me?”

The courier breathed in. “… I subscribe to the simple joys, such as that of touching girls’ things.”

That, on top of his chest rapidly deflating, got an entertained snort out of Ashi. “Of course,” she said. “Well, I knew this, if vaguely. Go on, then. Touch where you like.”

The gears in Gin’s mind shifted so quickly that Ashi should have heard his drivetrain screech. He untangled his fingers from Ashi’s, which the spider-girl absently gave up, and slid the so-liberated hand, together with its sibling, down her sides, thighs and calves, then up under the bottom edge of her kimono. Ashi, being the nimble spider she was, raised her butt: freeing the fabric trapped underneath and allowing Gin’s questing hands to peel it from her legs. The legs emerged smooth, sleek and cool to the touch, though they plumped out and lost the chill the farther Gin’s palms skimmed up inside her clothes. It was once they arrived at the spider-girl’s upraised rear that they got a major and not entirely unwelcome surprise.

Ashi was going commando.

The courier’s bravado caught in his craw as his fingers wrapped around a set of smooth, firm buttocks, with not a scrap of cloth to get in the way and impair the experience. He thumbed, somewhat tentatively, around the spider-girl’s slim waist, but no – no funny, side-tie, high-riding business was going on here. Only plain-old, knickers-off depravity. His fingertips dug into the tight, springy flesh, extracting a low purr from Ashi… who, it turned out, had been busying herself with the buttons of Gin’s coat.

“… No panties?” he asked, not a little redundantly.

The pervy earth spider popped the bottommost of the buttons and parted the coat’s halves ahead she explained, “… Underwear’s a bitch and a half to come by in the Underworld, unless it is the potato sack lookalike kind. I try not to wear mine – or wear it out – if I mustn’t.”

As she spoke, Gin felt her tiny hands intrude under his sweater and slide over his undershirt. He gave her naked ass a return squeeze. “… What if you chanced on a naughty gust of wind?”

“I fancy that would make for a happy bystander, no?” Ashi doggedly tucked up his impeding sweater, while Gin groped for something smart to say. “You’re a pervert” seemed a little pointless; “Your ass is mine, so please don’t display it to anyone else” – a bit possessive. At the tail end of the minute, the spider-girl had worked through both the sweater and the shirt without him getting his chip in. Her prize, in the shape of Gin’s exposed front, beckoned her keen nose, which she traced covetously from his stomach, across his shaggy chest, and up to the base of his neck. “… Keep going, by the way,” she breathed, the heated words tickling his body hair. “OK? It feels nice when you do that. Go on.”

“… When I do what?” ventured Gin.

Shame was a friend Ashi had never met. “When you touch my butt,” she said at once. “Come on. You can do it like dull man did to Yams. I won’t bite.”

In the privacy of their bed-top tent, the courier’s thoughts raced back an hour, to the picture of Ashi’s voluptuous sister and her sensational behind. There was little professional forecast that the one he was stroking and pinching presently would bounce a quarter a quarter of the height Yamame’s huge, bountiful ass could. But there was an area where they could be made to match yet. The colour. Gin hitched the loosened kimono up to Ashi’s waist, grabbed a stern hold of her left butt-cheek in one hand, lifted the other…

… And then brought it down sharply on the other hemisphere. He felt the whole ass ripple through his fingertips and heard Ashi squeal when the impact stuffed her face into his chest. Something stirred beneath Gin’s otherwise gentleman’s heart when the spider-girl turned out to have an amazingly erotic squealing voice. Something else rather below his heart would have woken as well, if it hadn’t been slowly fleshing out ever since Ashi had first climbed atop him.

Her fingernails jabbed between his ribs as she extracted her nose from his chest hair. “Mmh. More,” she whined. “Mooore.”

There was a deafening silence as Gin shut a mental door on his surviving restraint. There should have been a slam and a click, but some mental doors never quite worked the way you wanted them. He disengaged both his palms from the spider-girl’s wiggling ass – then smacked them back down at some force.

Ashi’s hips juddered – then gave out, crash-landing her back astraddle Gin’s own. Her warm, pantiless privates pressed and squished against the hard, oblong bulge in the front of his trousers. The monster imprisoned within throbbed happily at the treatment.

“You—” gasped Ashi, “hfff, deviant— sleazeball— weirdo! Why are you getting hard, nnh, to a blasted youkai?

“Why is the youkai,” Gin groaned back, “moaning from being spanked?” He punctuated the sentence with a slap on Ashi’s rear. Her crotch ground against his on the recoil, causing the spider-girl to jolt in startled pleasure. “… Bad girl,” he mocked.

“Bad man!” Ashi snapped back, thrusting her hips and riding Gin’s stiff bulge from end to end. In the same motion, she buried her nose in his chest – and inhaled.

There wasn’t a fetish that could have battled and toppled Gin’s monster afterwards, save perhaps a few exotic ones from the glory days of BDSM magazines. A spider-girl getting turned on by the scent of his body was trifle of a kink in contrast. He carried on bullying her bare derriere, now cracking a palm against it, now gripping and spreading the cheeks out, now jostling it back and forth along his hard-on. He had half a mind to yank his pants down and let Ashi’s slit flirt with his monster directly, but the continuous sounds of aroused helplessness pouring from her mouth kept his hands occupied at her rear.

The air beneath the blanket grew steamy, thickening with each horny gasp and strangled exclamation. There was another scent gelling beneath that of Gin’s well-used sheets: the sharp tang of a youkai girl in a certain kind of distress. Cautiously, he quit manhandling Ashi’s slight hips, finding out in the process that the spider-girl was perfectly capable – and willing – to grind herself on Gin’s tent-inside-the-tent quite on her own. Her naked legs strained around his flanks, and her breathing winded even higher, but there she was. An earth spider – a terror from the Underworld – humping his erection through his clothes and twitching fitfully from the sensation.

It was the straw that broke the courier’s back. Or, as it were, it was the straw that didn’t break his back, because Gin had no trouble carjacking his hips up, Ashi and all, in order to remove that final barrier after all.

The spider-girl caught the manoeuvre by the wrist. That was to say, Gin’s. “What, nnf… What are you doing, gin man?”

The courier swallowed. “… Getting my dick out.”

“Why are you getting your dick out?” Ashi wanted to know.

“I…” He hesitated. “It’d feel better if… well, rather than ruining my pants…”

“I thought we weren’t going to have sex?”

Gin unlatched his jaw to reassure the concerned youkai girl of his purest intentions regardless of how hard he was down below, but for the overlate recognition that they’d never explicitly committed to not having sex. There’d been exhortation on the prospect of tongue-and-mouth action, a length of hemming and a bunch of hawing, but never a thing on it being the be-all-end-all of their private “breather.” That thread of potential had been passed over in silence, and now, it appeared, rested loosely in his and Ashi’s hands.

And Ashi knew just what was done to loose threads. They were plucked. In this case, together with Gin’s pants, which she pulled down sharply halfway to his knees.

His monster sprang free, full of vim and damp with sweat, slapping the spider-girl’s belly upon exit. Ashi let it enjoy three beats of latitude before she drove its owner back flat on the bed and pinned it under her slit. Her slick, well-warmed-up labia spread under her weight, all but hugging around the bottom of his shaft, and Gin couldn’t resist urging them into a trip up his rigid length. Ashi hissed her surprised relish when the head of his dick parted her swollen lips and poked her stiff clitoris. Not about to give up on the stimulation, the spider-girl tweaked her hips, making it sure that, when the courier pushed them back, her sensitive little nub scraped along his entire underside. When the backstroke did happen, Gin felt her leave her honey all across his raring manhood. He could but speculate the soggy state his trousers were in.

Ashi jogged herself up to a sit, lifting the blanket and its shroud of darkness together with. It spilled down her back and off to the side to unveil a careless, horny mess of a girl: black hairs stuck all over her face, clothes split down the middle, her nude, hairless treasure spooning the base of his rather hairier manhood. Her unfastened kimono had slipped off of one of her shoulders, baring a small, cheerfully perky breast, tipped with a dark, obscenely puffy nipple. It put Gin in a fantasy of flicking it viciously in between sucking on it like a piece of hard candy.

She wasn’t in any way beautiful. The thought was a lash across his endorphin-addled brain, but it was a lash made of truth. The earth spider self-styled Ashi wasn’t as busty as sister Ichirin, as charming as lady Akyuu, or as down-to-earth sexy as her blond sister. She looked childish, even a shade ridiculous, with her face streaked with black locks; her motions had been earnest, yet clumsy; and her deference to Gin’s cues in all except the simple act of undressing spoke fluently of a lack of experience no amount of wit could cover up for. Here was a minor youkai who wouldn’t make a footnote in Gensokyo’s chronicles, unless the chronicles were Adult Only and penned by someone of tantamount unimportance, such as a measly courier named Gin Akamatsu.

And it was this, perhaps, what had made her so attractive. She was plain, unheard of, with no notoriety to impress or awe you beforehand, girded only with a clever mouth and an almost communicable absence of misgivings. Somebody who’d worked with you from the ground up. A girl you would grudgingly share a cup and a bed with after the boyhood dreams of bunking down with the Hakurei, marrying miss Keine of the history school or having a regular romance with the eldest daughter of the Hieda had turned out to be just that – dreams.

Gin hadn’t grown entirely out of those salad days yet, but if this trial run with Ashi was anything indicative, maybe he wouldn’t need so many cushions for when he started banging his head on reality’s low doorframes.

The shabby spider-girl didn’t stick out her meagre bust or preen herself enticingly as he gave her this extended once-over. Oddity of oddities, the lack of a reaction he could’ve read set his heart to pounding instead. He struggled to furnish it in words.

“… You’re cute, do you know that?”

Ashi looked down, unflurried. “… And you’re thick. And curved. Did you know that?

The courier spat a laugh. “At least I’m not crooked.

“Yes, yes, right,” she muttered, perhaps in an effort not to let her amateurism show. “… Well. What now?”

The question hadn’t been meant to choke Gin up, but somehow it did. It’d been easy to fixate on Ashi’s mouth when that had been the only part of her egging him on, but the previous minutes had yielded, what some called, a whole ‘nother notion.

( ) Then again, if she’d liked his smell up there, she would love how he smelled down there.
( ) On the flip side, it was important to learn where and how half-youkai babies were made.
>>No. 40129
(x) Then again, if she’d liked his smell up there, she would love how he smelled down there.
>>No. 40130
(x) Then again, if she’d liked his smell up there, she would love how he smelled down there.

Focus on what we're about to come for.
>>No. 40131
File 15758301162.jpg - (2.08MB, 1856x2621, D3JDkn5VAAEejgV.jpg) [iqdb]
smell fetish is good shit
(x) Then again, if she’d liked his smell up there, she would love how he smelled down there.
>>No. 40132
(x) On the flip side, it was important to learn where and how half-youkai babies were made.

Ashi is cute
>>No. 40133
[x] On the flip side, it was important to learn where and how half-youkai babies were made.
>>No. 40134
(x) Then again, if she’d liked his smell up there, she would love how he smelled down there.

Eh, Akyuu and Kosuzu probably have at least a dozen cocks lined up if this dude fails to show.
>>No. 40135
(x) Zip your pants up and come back to your senses

you can still stop gin from making a terrible mistake!
>>No. 40138
File 157601678546.jpg - (109.80KB, 1024x1024, EGu_OxWUwAIkRXW.jpg) [iqdb]
Seems you really, really can’t. Phooey.

Hello, writer’s skeleton here. Since I’m getting worked to my bone by the Nov-Dec explosion in business, I’ll call the vote here and ask you for a bit of feedback until my meat’s been granted enough rest to go back to the plotton fields.

The question is simple, and it stands as this: do you feel like I skimp out on physical description in the “sensitive” parts? And if so, how nonconductive is this to the overall experience? It’s something that’s been knocking about my skull – but then, I’ve also been told that I in fact go too hard for the purely-physical imaging. I don’t mind pushing it either way, but I’d prefer someone else gave the first push.

Also, to all of you who didn’t bail out of the OC-on-OC nonsense despite me giving you no fewer than two discreet chances… I hope you’re god damn proud of yourselves.
>>No. 40139
I actually really like the way you do your descriptions, but that might just be me enjoying your writing style as a whole because I like your non-porn as well. The only thing I can think of that you could do some more of is describing facial expressions, which I've found is pretty arousing if done right, but I'm not sure if that's just me being weird.

Also if you didn't want us to vote for your OCs then you shouldn't have made them so damn likable
>>No. 40141
Your descriptions and wordplay are on another level entirely, and I mean that in the most fanboyish way possible. The sex scenes are both fascinating and enjoyable to read.

However, I cannot, for the very life of me, understand how anybody could ever fap to this.

Also Ashi has more character development than 90% of canon, so any OC puritans who try to put her down can get bent.
>>No. 40146
While I didn't jerk off to it or anything, your Marisa story was written so well that it nearly drove me crazy. You seriously have a way with words that makes practically anything come together in a perfect cocktail of lewd and detailed. I have no doubts it sould extend to any other stuff you write, even if it was something entirely serious.

So in short: No, I think you describe everything in the sensitive scenes in just the perfect amount of detail to throw my imagination into overdrive. Never stop doing what you're doing.

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