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Minamitsu let Mu’s limping treasure slip out of her mouth.
Care, love and a fair amount of work had seen its length scrubbed of lewd evidence. Minamitsu pushed herself up to admire her handiwork. Her handiwork, worn out and drooping, did its best mockery of a landed fish. It flopped. Once. Then, comically, it slumped down across its underslung carriage.
Minamitsu sighed her happiness. There had ever been something deeply gratifying about making a man come. Some immanent and deep-seated response to helping them achieve that prime, natural directive. Seeing (and tasting, and feeling) its tangible results almost always set her thoughts abuzz with the warm, pleasant glow of having done something… real. Intended. Lifelike. Minamitsu may never again be human; she’d had ages to internalise the fact. No quantity of unguarded sex had ever gotten her pregnant; no extent of teasing, coaxing and cajoling could resuscitate her own natural functions. Minamitsu had tried. All which could be dredged out were the feelings and sensations tied to the process. Never the full, genuine thing.
That had been ceded wholesale to something else. Another, blacker appetite.
Minamitsu felt it wrenching at her soul when the seed she had diligently licked up and swallowed began to die in her stomach. Tiny pinprick hooks of vitality, seeking purchase they would never find, doomed to swim out their precious seconds of life inside the entirely wrong area of Minamitsu’s body. Straggling, lost, crumbling, thrashing about…
Something exploded outside.
Someone cried in alarm.
Minamitsu gave it no heed, the anyway layered walls of the boarding house rendering the shouts far and incoherent. She climbed off of her knees, and rose along Handai Mu’s front. She pressed their naked chests together, enjoying the beat of his living heart through his bare skin. Mu breathed in, sharply – then gulped when Minamitsu craned her neck up and planted a kiss at the base of his neck.
“… Say, Captain,” whispered her very own voice – except lower, seductive; “did you know? There’s this big, outdoor bath behind this house.”
“… Yeah?” Mu managed to reply.
“Yeah,” said Minamitsu. “Yeah… Very private, as you like. No one in at this hour. It’s a hot spring, also. The water’s nice and warm, even in Winter.”
“And, we could have it all to ourselves. You and I. No onlookers. We could get in, wash each other… Take a dip in the water. And then, once we’ve warmed up and relaxed, we could get our naughty bits acquainted. My kitty would love to meet your cock. I’d teach you all my good spots… and you could repay me for that blowjob. I wager you could get me to cum in no time. I’m a youkai, too. So, you could finish inside me, as well. As. Many. Times—” She smooched his neck to punctuate each word, up to his bulging Adam’s apple. “… As you can squeeze out, Captain. No obligations. Just sex. Until neither of us can breathe anymore. Shall we??”
There was a laden moment as Mu weighed her salacious offer against whatever rope-end of decency he was still clinging to below.
At length, he disappointed her. “… Why do I have the idea,” he asked, “that you are leading me on?”
Minamitsu chuckled. Her sailor’s honesty spoke over her shallower instincts, “I am. Admittedly. But, I give you my oath, I will have as much sex with you as you can take ahead I do anything bad.”
Mu made a quiet scoff. “All the same,” he said. “Thanks, but pass.”
Minamitsu deflated. Her murky, vengeful desires gave a final, angry beat…
… Then quieted – hushed under a will so strong, so disciplined, that sister Byakuren might have popped at her seams from pride. Minamitsu shouldered aside the implicit affront in Mu’s response, and, the bare tips of her breasts brushing his, she rose up onto her toes.
“For being candid, at least,” she said, smiling. Then, kissed his lips.
To her pleased surprise, Handai Mu humoured her compulsions, and kissed back. With enough verve, in truth, that their mouths parted ways with pronounced reluctance when they did, in the end, come apart. Mu had a question behind his eyes – and insight on his tongue.
“You do really like this,” he said. “Kissing.”
He’d attired a face which gave off the wrinkly suggestion of having been pulled out of a coat’s rarest used pocket. Moreover, he’d attuned a tone that had nimbly swapped the specific “You” inside the question (“Murasa Minamitsu”) for an all-encompassing homonym (“you, youkai”).
The substituted you (Minamitsu) gave him no benefit of a bite.
“What-ever has betrayed me, Captain?” she asked.
Mu was polite enough to acknowledge her flirting. “A mouthful of instances,” he hinted.
“Jolly,” she acknowledged his joke in return. “Though… Well, yes. It’s an old affectation, right athwart of stories. Older, belike.”
And Minamitsu did tell. “When I was thirteen, or about,” she told him, “a sailor on his shore leave coasted by our village. Stayed in the loft of a barn of one of our neighbours, frittered his scales away on the local ale, cheated the field-hands at dice – what sailors get to on dry land. Harmless, when you’ve heard the stories I have; and, his coin was a fresher mint than anyone in town had seen in their lives. Anyhow, I was out in the woods one gorgeous noon – thirteen Winters of age me, fetching firewood for the stove. My Pa had gone with the plague years ahead, see – and Ma had her hands and noggin full of cooking for the sowers. So fell to me, therefore, to go out each day and pick up more kindling for stewing the oats.
“Somewise, the sailor was out and about that same noon,” Minamitsu continued, with fond remembrance. “Same environs, to boot. Gave one another a foul start, we did, actually. He’d not noticed me nosing about in the brush, and I hadn’t heard him strutting by – what on account of that rolling, sailor’s gait. We laughed about it some. Then, we sat in the grass and talked a while about the town and the world. He told me girls inland were mighty beautiful compared to sea-born ladies, who were scratchy and porous – what with all the salt in the air. I told him no parts of me were any beautiful, and he rather disagreed. At length – and with rather much fire.
“And then,” she delivered the thrust of the tale, “while I sat there, a beet for my face and porridge for wits, he said this. That, if I should give him but a kiss, he would show me the best feeling under the Sun.”
“… Was it a good trade?” asked Mu.
Minamitsu gave a soft chuckle. She hadn’t to ask why he’d assumed she’d taken the offer. “It was the best, Captain. I wasn’t as good I am now at kissing then; though, he didn’t overmuch mind this. He sat me down on his lap, stuffed a hand under my dress, and did me with his fingers. There – in the open – under the trees. That was my very first orgasm. And, he kept kissing me all through. Couldn’t focus for the whole rest of the day, poor me. I gave him my maidenhead later that evening, in the loft. And, as you may wager… there were scads of kisses there, too.”
A soft, dreamy sigh whispered out of Minamitsu’s chest, which was still squished, rather agreeably, against Handai Mu’s broad, masculine front. “… Since then, Captain,” she quietly concluded, “I’ve had a thing for having my lips touched. You get? It’s a… memento. A reminder. Of fonder times.”
“A pleasant association,” translated Mu. “I get. But isn’t it... human? You are youkai now. No?”
“A ghost,” corrected Minamitsu. “Same difference, I know. But is there one, between those? Why should youkai be removed from sentimentality? We aren’t free from associations, Captain; on the contrary. We make them easy. Some of us live by our attachments. Some of us even died by the same.”
“May this be why,” Mu wanted to know, “that story felt unfinished?”
Minamitsu drafted up a grin. “Yes,” she obliged. “Alas, there is only so much that a girl will sell for a stick of sugarcane. And, Captain, a girl’s secrets… Those are her most expensive part.”
The chest, by which Minamitsu was braced, swelled even broader with a long, somewhat laboured breath. At its peak, as it almost overflowed, it escaped Mu’s lungs in the shape of a low, derisive scoff. And yet, when Minamitsu was nigh-on about to re-run her previous line in her head to check whether it had soured somewhere between her brain and her tongue, the inquisitive, bald man released the remainder of his breath into a disconsolate wheeze. It tickled all across the top of her head.
“… Wish I’d met you earlier,” sighed Mu. “Would’ve been another story all in.”
“What?” giggled Minamitsu. “Got a cute sailor girlfriend already?” The guilty silence which poured out of Handai Mu vouched that, even if she hadn’t struck gold, then she was shovelling in the approximate area. “Ah, chin aloof, Captain!” she consoled him, poking a finger at the relevant piece of his face. “As you say: I am a youkai; I do what I like. I’m not too concerned whether you’re banded or not.”
Mu hesitated. “… What,” he asked at last, “if my girlfriend is youkai as well?”
“Then, Captain,” replied Minamitsu, “brutally, unless she is a hashi-hime or the like, chances are she isn’t deeply bothered, either.”
There was no answer from the bald man – excepting, perhaps, that Minamitsu sensed she’d caused him someway a deep bother of his own through her frank assessment.
His troubled waves were married with hers when another noise shuddered the walls of the boarding house. Another explosion… only not. A duller, stifled THUD! this time – as that of a laded hull striking an underwater sand bank. Or, Minamitsu’s latter experiences were telling, that of a sandbag being dropped by a rattled earth spider from fifty fathoms above.
Handai Mu’s face was a-frown with alarm that would have made her laugh if her own wasn’t, at that time, playing accompaniment.
“… That,” the human opined, “was not a nice sound.”
“No,” agreed Minamitsu. “Not whatsoever.”
“Maybe you should get that.”
“Maybe I should.”
After two – or three, or five – more moments of enjoying Mu’s surface heat, Minamitsu began to peel their sweat-stuck bodies apart. A curious sensation all throughout, it tapered anyway to one last, disappointing tug when Minamitsu forced herself away. The whilom captain of the Palanquin Ship allowed the bald man a farewell eyeful of her humble bust, ahead she rolled her sailor’s top back down. Mu bent over to retrieve his shorts from around his ankles, while Minamitsu reached under her skirt to fix her panties.
With a slight foiling of her, all told, amiable mood, she discovered the underwear to feel damp and clammy on her groin. A major pain in the fundament, where Minamitsu was concerned, because Gensokyo had lately begun its cruise with the nightmare by the name of “bloomers,” which, by outward intention, were designed to accommodate women of all sizes – on the assumption that they were women whales. Minamitsu hoped – in the main, for the sake of whoever was churning the waters outside – that they would kindly drown themselves when asked, so that she may go about salvaging one of the remaining pairs of her sensible, Outside World underthings.
Hope, she knew of course, died last. But, as Minamitsu could affirm, death was as nothing before a dogged enough girl.