He had the gods of the sea, no doubt, to thank for this.

At the foot of the Youkai Mountain, where wise men daren’t go, there was a big lake. It was called the Misty Lake with infallible accuracy, for an impermeable fog swirled milkily ever and always over the waters. Currently, however, it was locked in a dishonourable duel for its name with the summer sun, which, having singed the clouds off the sky previously, now turned its glare on the terrestrial lookalike. From afar, the Lake appeared as though steaming.

On its shade-less shore, in a tiny bay, somebody who hadn’t known better had built upon a time a no bigger pier. It was short, rickety, so close the water’s surface the flimsiest breeze could cause your boots to slosh for the rest of the afternoon and, on the whole, given a wide berth by fishers of sensible persuasion. The man occupying it today, simmered by the summer rays, knew, however, a secret.

You could take off your boots and leave them on the bank.

But for this stroke of genius he would’ve been mighty discomfited to sit where and how he was: on the pier’s far end, trouser-less legs over the edge, lazily milling the water. His name was Mondo, and he was a fisher. Or he could’ve been a fisher, perhaps of even some success, had his life turned differently and the land of his birth contained reservoirs with less self-possessed inhabitants.

A specimen of which was, at this very moment, half-clambered over the pier and Mondo’s naked lap. Her name, in turn, was Wakasagihime and, quite despite it, she was in obvious evidence a mermaid. This was tenable by the lower half of her body idly finning the murk: scaly and iridescent, in the heights of piscine fashion, from aforementioned fins up to where an amazing, toned behind could, Mondo was rather positive about this, otherwise have been found.

Of her upper half, he had a poorer view – due mostly to Wakasagihime’s flowing, seaweed-green kimono cloaking its back, while her lush frontage was squished, less than abashedly, against his own. Her pale, princess-slim arms hugged his tanned waist with surprising – or perhaps not – strength.

Wakasagihime murmured something loosely imploring. Mondo clutched his faculties by whichever bits presented and drew a pail of water from the side of the narrow pier. This he then dumped unceremoniously over the mermaid’s head.

Wakasagihime shook, spraying the water, curls of opal-blue hair sticking to her face. Wherever it lingered on her pearly skin, the moisture congealed fast into a thin, slippery slime Mondo’s inherent fisher associated with, well, fish. Wakasagihime arched her back, and the slime dribbled down her shoulders and the parted front of her soaked kimono. An abyss-deep cleavage spread out to admit the fresh lubricant.

“Thaaanks,” the mermaid crooned, wiggling to speed the process. “This sun is some bother, my me.”

“Tell me about it,” said Mondo, cleverly, at least to his mind.

The fidgeting Wakasagihime smiled as though she’d thought the same. It was a big smile, because Wakasagihime had a face made for it. She wasn’t exactly a Yamato beauty, being over-endowed and, frankly, on the blubbery side, but had the attractive, healthy cheeks of a housewife who knew her way around the kitchen. It was a big “as though,” because he’d no sooner done congratulating himself on sharpness in the face of adversity than the mermaid let go of his waist.

Only, then, to seize her huge, slippery mermaid tits in both hands and slap them flush around Mondo’s stiff, upraised prick.

The clap of tit on wet tit was a bawdy applause to Wakasagihime’s likewise bow. She had let his tip peek out from between the flabby, maternal mounds and peeled back the foreskin with her regal lips. The lukewarm slime softened the friction, but nonetheless Mondo’s loins were manfully clenched as her tongue lapped the exposed crest of his entrapped prick. She closed her lips just below the glans and sucked hard – pulling up, failing to hold on for the excess of mermaid lube. His rigid shaft throbbed from the scrotum to the abused tip between her breast, clear pre-come jetting out to streak their pudgy slopes – twice – as the tip popped free of her slimy mouth.

She surveyed the consequent mess in her cleavage with an admonishing frown.

“Wasting so much liquid on such a day? Tut-tut. You must have a care, fisher. You are already sweating beads.”

“Whose scales were they drying up in moments, again?” Mondo grunted in response.

Wakasagihime rolled her gorgeous eyes. “Marry. I’m just going to have to slither back and dive. You, however—” here, she pursed her lips and slurped a considerably thicker bead off the exposed head of his prick, “—you, mm, are going to have to walk home afterwards. In this frying pan of a heat.”

Mondo chinned one of his shoulders. “I have a canteen back with the boots.”

The mermaid looked to confirm and, satisfied, chastely smooched his bared glans in commendation.

This was then revised into a less than innocent hug from her heavy, half-disrobed tits as she wrapped them back around Mondo’s wastrel of a prick. They engulfed his length top to bottom with blubber in surplus: great, soft-skinned cushions of carnal femininity, coolly comfortable against the sweltering air. Their nipples were, as ever, primly hidden in the fanned-out halves of her kimono, kept there painstakingly by Wakasagihime’s constant adjustments. A bluish-pink half-circle of an areola was even so peeking out on one side: a finger’s breadth from surely indecent exposure.

Mondo ogled it candidly while he leant back, keen to have the disturbed tit-fuck continue.

“Well?” he urged, emboldened by the cool, snug circumstance of his prick. “Go on, fish.”

Wakasagihime spat on his stomach in a show of token resistance. “Yes, sir fisher,” she obeyed, nevertheless.

She heaved up her huge, glistening, lube-dripping tits – then dropped them down his upright prick.

Mondo grunted appreciatively. Their smooth, flawless skin was doing his hard-on nowhere as much good as the mermaid’s lewd, sucking mouth, but the visual spectacle of his entire length vanishing up that shiny crevice was one to star in a Tengu’s film reel. His aunts and uncles had harped on the fish of the Misty Lake not being worth the risk, and yet here Mondo was, risking only his legs heedlessly kicking out from under the mermaid’s elbows.

Surely. The gods of the sea had to have willed this – else, his very first cast from the lonely pier, weeks before, wouldn’t have prompted the Lake’s princess protector to leap out and tackle him to the planks. She wouldn’t have begged him stop fishing “where the wakasagi sleep,” nor landed her bountiful, fatty mounds right on Mondo’s quickly crowding, under-belt area. Surely, she wouldn’t have proposed to save her brethren by falling upon his “hook” herself.

But the gods had willed it indeed. So it was that, for the dozenth time since, Wakasagihime was bargaining for her careless little wards’ lives with Mondo’s long, hardy, agreeably throbbing prick. Her salacious mouth hung demurely open as she jerked him off in her fathomless cleavage; although, whether it was due to exertion or sheer absorption in the act, Mondo couldn’t have said even with a bystander’s advantage. He was plenty absorbed himself: panting and jacking up his nude hips, that each and every ponderous downstroke brought them up against the mermaid’s underboobs with a loud, wet “plap!” The tremendous tits heaved and wobbled despite Wakasagihime’s firm hold, coming more and more unveiled the longer they toured Mondo’s enthused prick.

Not fast enough for his like. He reached down and completed the job by tugging the kimono’s edge.

Momentum and slippery lube came to aid, and Wakasagihime’s enormous, left tit emerged suddenly into daylight. The mermaid rallied almost at once, covering the large, off-colour areola with a pale hand, never missing a stroke. Mondo reproduced the trick on the other side, resulting in a well-nigh topless Wakasagihime pouting up at him from above an uninterrupted and, now, much more picturesque tit-fuck. Her pudgy fingers skipped and skidded up and down across her plump nipples, desperate and unable to keep their prominent peaks from being glimpsed.

“Obscene, mmha, man,” she chided, flinching from the incidental self-stimulation. “What is your, aha, angle?”

“Shame to cover these marvels up,” Mondo groaned in reply. “You should let ‘em out from time to time.”

Wakasagihime dropped the aforesaid marvels, hard, down his prick – so hard, the pier creaked from their plummeting weight, and Mondo’s glans ached from their plush pressure gliding by too fast. The mermaid apologised to his distressed prick by easing off, letting her tits slump and gently fellating the offended tip. Mondo knuckled the planks even so because, however tender Wakasagihime’s treatment was, the sight of her full, bluish lips wrapped around his vulnerables was one to break a more seasoned fisher’s back than his. He exalted the gods once more while the mermaid’s nimble tongue orbited his glans inside her ravishing mouth.

“Hey. Hey, fish.”

Wakasagihime mumbled around his slick girth. Then, slowly, she slid her lips off of his prick-head, leaving it to dribble over itself and into her deepened cleavage. “What,” she asked, guilelessly, “is it this time, sir pervert fisher?”

“About that,” gasped Mondo. “Your tits’re a treasure, really are, but I’ll have one of those great blowjobs of yours now, please. The sort where your kiss the bottom of my dick while it’s in your throat.”

Wakasagihime grinned sleazily, schooled herself and then attired a scowl in one truly princess-like procession of expressions. “You forget our compact, do you, fisher?” she chided with a toss of the blue curls. “My mouth so you leave the wakasagi be. My breasts to ward off the summer heat. Was it not so? You do not even have your rod today! The wooden one,” she clarified, for the slow of blood-flow to their heads.

Mondo groaned. True, the mermaid had advanced her mouth on their initial spat over the wakasagi for that very cause, and he may have given such or like excuse for stirring things up with her arrestingly soft, massive tits also. And, true enough, having Wakasagihime’s waterborne, therefore fish-cool, body on and around his bits had been Mondo’s respite in these hot, summer days. But he hadn’t been born yesterday – or even last summer.

“You say so, fish,” he thus retorted, “but a rod is just a tool. I could catch a leaping trout in my bare hands. Let alone some pitiful wakasagi.”

The mermaid’s eyes flew wide in mock horror. “Are you threatening me and mine, sir fisher?”

“I may be.”

“Then I shall have to defend my kinsfolk forthwith!”

All at once, Mondo was gawping at the sky – or, rather, the lazily rolling mists. And Wakasagihime, who’d pushed him supine, was crawling out onto the pier on all-fours or, more faithfully, all-twos. Her fantastically enormous bust sagged between her marching arms: nude, pendulous, dripping pre-cum and slime from the fat, swollen nipples. Mondo scrambled to a half-sit while the mermaid deposited her marine mammaries on his lap and pursed her lips against the crown of his hard prick.

And, since a princess’s best defence was overwhelming sexual offence, she then plunged these, in a tight, slippery ring, down the fisher’s meaty shaft. Mondo winced as his glans parted her tonsils and pushed into her smooth gullet. He swore as her puckered lips met his crotch and her nose bumped his pubic bone. His girthy prick throbbed top to bottom in the hot, gooey clutches of her mouth and throat, spewing fresh, thick pre-come straight into her stomach as if it meant to feed the dick-hungry mermaid the bait.

For her part, Wakasagihime tweaked up her face a degree and glared up at him for employing such crass language in the vicinity of a princess benevolent enough to suck him off in so shameless a fashion. She dragged her lips all up his prodigious length, suction applied with vengeance to every manly centimetre, tongue churning around the tip as it vacated her slimy throat. Another moment, and Wakasagihime reversed the stroke, and Mondo’s hips bucked when she gagged and coughed with the most vulnerable stretch of his raw prick-shaft lodged between her wringing tonsils. The mermaid gurgled, pinned his thigh to the pier with one of her shockingly strong arms, and finished swallowing his remaining span.

This time, she kissed the root of his prick like he’d wished: smooched by those plump, pale lips, while the exposed tip was squeezed and coddled in her twitching, irritated throat. He teetered on the edge of coming, head thrown back, legs kicking, his prick so stiff and bulged from the intense arousal it was a wonder it fit where it did.

Wakasagihime did the single worst thing she could’ve for him in these circumstances. Which was to say, she stayed still as a sleeping fish and let Mondo to peak in her throat while his prick brought itself to orgasm through its own, wild throbbing.

Throb by tortured throb, Mondo’s prick complied. Its owner – at least, he it was attached to – cried out as a rope of spunk even thicker than the mermaid’s slime jetted straight down her roomy gullet. Wakasagihime’s throat contracted in surprise, which only caused the prick to shoot its load harder. It pulsed between her cramped nostrils, pumping mouthful after mouthful of pressurised come into the mermaid’s waiting stomach. Wakasagihime swallowed and swallowed while Mondo’s helpless feet roiled the water on either side of her tail. She held him down, pitiless, too heavy to be thrown off, and suckled his coming prick of its manly yield till she was coughing up the excess.

Then and only then she slacked her hold and rode her lips, still sucking, all up to the bared tip. Mondo’s prick popped out of her insatiable mouth, undiminished of size, tender but ready for a second amazing blowjob in a row.

Therefore, it came out of someplace unexpected to the panting, groggy Mondo that Wakasagihime pitched herself backwards off the pier, pulling him along by the foot. The much-too-young-to-die fisher screamed, trashed and buffeted the murky water, feeling somewhat silly about it all the very next moment as it became evident it didn’t hardly come up to his chest.

Wakasagihime burst out in front of him and threw her arms around him in a wet, topless tackle-hug.

“Cooler like this, isn’t it?” she said, giggling. Her breath was scalding hot and stank of a man’s orgasm. “The water is quite nice, mm, quite nice on hot days like this. You ought to try it sometime, sir fisher. And…”

The mermaid reached below – between her streaming, watermelon-sized tits, actually – and grabbed a hold of Mondo’s unabated hard-on. She brushed its sensitive, nearly purple glans across some scales and then wiggled it against a soft, pliable orifice. Mondo trembled as his prick sank a whole mind-blowing inch into the snug, unseen hole.

“And then I may teach you,” Wakasagihime whispered into his flushed ear, “sir so-called-fisher, about the importance of repopulation.”

“I—I would like that,” groaned Mondo.

He struck out with his waist to bury his prick in the mermaid’s hidden baby-maker, but her fist around his shaft forestalled him from hilting.

“Please—” he croaked.

But Wakasagihime was a princess. A real fish princess with a juridical mind to match.

“Good start,” she praised. “Then you’ll remember to bring along your rod, as ordained, next time. And now that we have cooled you off so, so thoroughly…”

Mondo made an unmanly sound, thrown backwards and up above his ears into the water by whatever analogue of kicking it was mermaids employed in their absence of knees. He flailed back into a stand, drenched, spitting bits of foliage. He caught but a flash of the mermaid’s scaly behind before the mists closed and her far-off splashing became the only clue she’d ever been there at all. That, and the needy twitching of Mondo’s utterly duped prick.

Oh, well. The gods were fickle almost by definition, and there was always another hot day in Gensokyo’s summers. It was as sure as the water trickling out of Mondo’s ears that he and Wakasagihime would meet again. She didn’t know he knew, but he knew repopulation was important. He was a fisher. A kind of one.

The kind with dry boots and a mermaid after his hook, which anyway was more than the sunstroked heads back home could boast.

(Image cropped from https://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/1929642)
(I'm not sure how well this one fits the theme, but I wanted to contribute something and this was the best I had.)

The sunset never failed to stir Futo’s brash heart. The brilliant oranges and deep reds felt much like the heat and passion of fire. There was comfort there, in the warden that sheltered her, in warmth and ash, from the terrible image of Buddhist icons.

Sadly, she’d brought no oil nor torches on her trip out of the human village. No tools to conjure that glowing guardian again. It was perhaps just as well, for the the evening had done nothing to calm the sweltering heat of the day. But still it left her a bit on edge, given that she followed a Buddhist stooge into the wilds. Admittedly, one with lovely shoulders and an alluring butt to which her blue and white dress clung. Even the gold-and-brown tabard-the kesa-did little to hide any of it. The angry pink cloud accompanying that Buddhist, she could do without.

In absence of her incendiary tools, Futo’s eyes kept wandering to the sunset, as if she could conjure its flame for comfort. Or usher the day to a sooner close, so that she could bathe in something other than her own sweat. The stooge-Ichirin, she ought to call her-had personally invited her for a drink. Alone. Why? Why with her? They had fought alongside one another, certainly. In fact, the nature of their alliance had made it all… oddly intimate. She had allowed Ichirin to possess her, and taken control of Ichirin in turn. But they had fought against one another far more often, even after that whole ‘perfect possession’ incident!

“Thanks for your company, Unzan. I’ll see you back at the temple.”

Futo blinked. She looked up. Ichirin waved the angry cloud away. The cloud rumbled in response but, after trading some whispers she couldn’t quite process, the he billowed out and drifted off. Ichirin glanced only briefly to Futo, but didn’t even bother explaining, before she turned and resumed her march. Now, Futo’s mind raced.

She dismissed Unzan? Why? It could not be a trap, then. For the stooge would surely need her cloud’s help to even compete with a hermit as wise as herself. And-and a bar would be a poor place for that, anyway! No, no. Futo peeled a plate from her sleeve, with which she fanned herself as she pondered the mystery before her. Ichirin sought to drink with her, despite never doing so before. And now, she had dismissed her most constant companion. That-oh, oh dear. Futo’s brow furrowed. A light sweat broke out across her scalp. Ichirin must have desired a new companion. A different sort of companion.

A wife. Or-or at least, a girlfriend! Perhaps a consort or… what had those whippersnappers called it? A ‘friend of benefit’?

Futo’s face flushed. Her heart fluttered on the buoying lift of those flattering thoughts. But could she accept this sort of proposal? The woman certainly had her appeals. A fine, fit body. A quick wit. A readiness to neglect her sinister leader’s dictates, as shown by this very trip. Futo knew well, after all, how that monk felt about alcohol.

Futo’s whole body prickled as they stepped further and further from the village. She slid the plate back down her sleeve as she stole another glance to that soft, enticing butt. Honestly, what business had a Buddhist in possessing such an enviable body? And just what intentions hid behind it? Even as some faint melody fell upon her ears, it could not calm her. Especially as the lovely sunset dimmed into its familiar purples and blues.

Would she be able to mend Ichirin’s ways enough to make such a relationship work? Would it even be worth it? What would the crown prince think of such a scandalous union? Or perhaps they could keep it quiet. Futo’s body tingled. She suspected a blush even crept into her face. She had no doubt their rendezvouses would be… intense. Passionate, filled with emotion as they explored one another. To say that she hadn’t thought of such encounters, or imagined the feel of Ichirin’s chest, of her slender back, and her-oh no. Futo shook her head. She needed to say ‘no.’ It would be too dangerous, too distracting. And as dignified an image as Futo presented to the world, she knew a mighty beast hid beneath it. One that would ravage the poor monk once unleashed. For both their sakes, she would-

Ichirin cleared her throat. “Futo. Please, sit.”

The melody had, at some point, grown to a full, musical humming from some pink-haired youkai working a simple but mobile food stall. Flushing harder, Futo cleared her throat and settled into a stool beside Ichirin. She cleared her throat. “I wast deep in mine thoughts.”

Ichirin rolled her eyes. “Of course, you were.”

And yet, despite personally inviting Futo over to this dark realm of drinks and soft music, Ichirin said little else. Uncertain what that woman wanted and still a bit flustered to have been caught off-guard, Futo thought of little to say, either. They ordered drinks from the youkai, who had little but modestly-fruity sake to offer. And they drank. And drank. Well, Ichirin did. As refreshing as the sake proved itself to be, she found herself too busy trying to process this disciples’ strange request to drink much.

Only when Ichirin’s face flushed a deep scarlet did she finally part her lips for something other than to consume more alcohol. “Futo, you…”

And with those two words, Futo’s heart thumped. Her breath stopped. This was it. She had to, she had to say no! No matter how tempting this devious Buddhist was! No matter how alluring her body or enticing her honeyed wor-!

“…need to stay away from the temple.”

Futo blinked. That was… not as she expected. Certainly, she’d consider that Ichirin might request an elopement, or some otherwise covert affair. She clenched her cup. Something felt wrong. “Thine temple? Why then, ought I-”

Ichirin thumped her cup hard against the desk and glared back at Futo. “You think we can’t see you? You’ve had us on alert for weeks! Minamitsu’s still convinced you’ll set fire to something any day now! You’re scaring our visitors off!”

Futo stared back, dumbfounded. This? This was what Ichirin had called her out into the woods for? To, to whine at her? Her jaw tightened. “W-what actions do I doth be mine own business, not thine!”

The youkai behind the counter narrowed her eyes, but neither party paid her much mind.

Ichirin now pounded her fist against the table. “How dare you! That’s our temple you’re stalking! And-and I’ve caught you leering at me! Don’t you dare s-!”

Futo snarled back. “Me? Leering? Over thee? How, how dare thou utter such accusation! I, I ought-”

Ichirin gulped down the last of her drink, then slammed her cup down. “Oh, now you want to deny it? Then what the hell were you looking at yesterday? The flagstones under my feet? The door behind me? The-”

The youkai then thumped her own fists against the table, just before swiping both cups. “T-take your fight outside. Don’t, don’t damage my stall!”

Futo felt the alcohol’s heat fade from her face. Ichirin yelped. They both still glared at one another, but managed just enough presence of mind to rise to their feet and step back out onto the dirt road.

Futo had… certainly, she’d been scouting the temple, recently. She had to. The crown prince had gotten chummy with its devious leader, even getting betrayed by her! And Tojiko seemed none more interested in such affairs, to say nothing of their lackluster ‘disciples.’ That Futo had so often caught sight of Ichirin during her outings could mean only that the woman was prone to being there at just the wrong times! The way her dress had clung so well to her figure for the past few days had nothing to do with it!

“I, I couldst not know with certainty the forthrightness of thine temple!”

Ichirin’s eyes burst wide. She stammered for a good half-minute, which brought a sloppy smile to Futo’s face. Though she knew not where such confusion came from, she-

Ichirin’s fist blasted into Futo’s gut, throwing her backward and off-balance. The noble hermit staggered a good couple steps back before regaining control. At which point, she glowered. That, that sneaky, vicious scoundrel! This was an ambush, after all!

She lacked her matches and torches, but Futo was not helpless. She whipped a pair of plates from her sleeves and hurled them at her apparent foe. Ichirin leapt away from one and ducked beneath the other, before pulling her shiny chakrams from her own dress. But by then, Futo had a third plate hurtling toward her-one that then crashed and shattered against her side. Ichirin’s chakrams wobbled, but she kept them mostly in hand as she charged toward Futo and hurled one forward in her clenched fist.

Futo yelped and leapt backward, herself, throwing her floppy sleeves over her face as she did. She knew painfully well just how mighty that damn cloud’s… the chakram bit into her arm, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain. But that was nowhere near…

Oh, yes. The fool had ushered her cloud away. And, and the cloud had not yet returned! Futo laughed as she-a sharp gasp interrupted that laugh, as the other chakram landed. She staggered back again, but brought out more plates. Ichirin pressed her attack, forcing Futo to keep ducking and dodging back. More plates crashed against the Buddhist. That Buddhist threw out more blows, but a good few flew well wide of her target. And Futo eagerly punished those misses. By the time Ichirin had forced Futo into a wrestle, her strength had been well-spent. It took only a few twists and rolls before Futo found herself on top and Ichirin, no matter how hard she struggled, unable to strike back or slip out.

Long, labored pants poured from Futo’s lips as the thrill of victory surged through her. And the… excitement, of being the one overpowering someone, for once. Even she understood the disadvantages of her stature. Still, as she sagged atop her foe, she felt strange. Heat filled her, and yet she shivered. Her hands drifted to Ichirin’s chest to better support herself. And only when they arrived did she realized her mistake. That gentle, yet firm feel. It called to her. It made her breaths only heavier and hotter. In fact, her eyes soon matched her hands. Then wandered across Ichirin’s body. The shape of her breasts, her arms, her lips, all shimmering in the summer heat. Even the Buddhist stooge’s scandalized glance back only fueled her flame.

Her hands swirled around that chest. Around those breasts. She gave each a slow, loving squeeze. Ichirin gasped-in offense and disbelief-but Futo found herself only licking her lips to the sound. She blinked, then gulped. This-this wasn’t what she’d come here for! She’d come here to… hear… to hear Ichirin’s invitation, which had turned to be nothing more than the pretense for an ambush. Another betrayal, just like her leader had done to Miko. Futo’s eyes narrowed, even as an excited shudder rolled through her. She was not so naive as the crown prince. This betrayal would be properly punished. Punished with more than some slap on the wrist like a brawl or danmaku duel. Yes, punished just like…

“Uuurgh. Fine, fine, fine! You win, Futo. You stupid, lecherous jerk! Now get off me!”

Futo scowled. That voice needed to be… addressed before she dared move to her proper punishment. Even if she persuaded the crown prince of the necessity of her action, she had to keep this from Byakuren. Sadly, she had brought no tools with her to silence the stooge. All she had were her plates and the clothes on her back. And… and Ichirin’s clothing.

“Nay. For thine treachery, thou needst a punishment most severe.”

As Futo spoke, she worked the laces out of her sleeves and boots. It wouldn’t be much, but she just needed her foe subdued for a little while. She huffed, then spun around. Pressing her butt up against the base of Ichirin’s bust, she pressed Ichirin’s legs together and-

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

Ichirin kicked her legs out. Futo snarled, whipped her open palm across one thigh, then beat her backhand across the other. Then, as Ichirin yelped in pain, the hermit paused, staring at her captive’s socks. Of course! Futo yanked the Buddhist’s shoes off, then dragged the socks off as well.

Ichirin kept squirming. “L-listen to me, Futo, you perverted moron!”

She did not. Instead, Futo spun around and rolled one sock up.

“Whatever it is you’re doing, stop! Before you regret it! Before I make you reg-glph!”

Futo shoved the rolled-up sock straight into the Buddhist’s yapping mouth, then wrapped the other over it and tied it off behind her foe’s head. Ichirin, of course, immediately brought her hands up to her cheeks to untie it, but Futo snatched them up and, lifting herself up slightly, she threw the woman onto her chest. And then wrenched those hands behind her back and tied them off with her red ribbon.

“There doth be a multitude of things to regret, this night. For thee.”

Ichirin sputtered into her own socks as Futo turned to her legs. A single hand touching them was enough for her to kick them out with all her bleary, exhausted might. Which proved woefully insufficient to keep her assailant from binding her ankles together with the green ribbon. Then her thighs with the yellow. With her final, blue ribbon, Futo folded those legs, then tied those ankles to her foe’s-no, her captive’s-wrists.

“It doth a mercy be, then, that thou wilt plenty of time have, to meditate upon them.”

Satisfied, she conjured her boat, dumped her captive into it, and rode it away, into Miko’s senkai. Ichirin gurgled and whined incoherent blatherings the whole way. She rolled and rocked and squirmed. But even her most valiant efforts could not free her before they arrived. Futo exhaled a long, relieved sigh as the passed into it, as the cool, constant air washed over. Ichirin still squirmed, but she failed to keep Futo from hauling her up and-with a mighty, desperate grunt and shaking knees-carrying her off. Futo marched-or waddled, at least-through the front gates, into the main building, and down a flight of stairs to a special basement. One she had made certain to set aside for a rainy day or a stubborn Buddhist idol. Nudging the final door open with one foot, she stepped in and promptly dumped Ichirin to the tatami below.

“Thou, thou beist too cumbersome for mine refined arms.”

Ichirin wailed in surprised and pain, but Futo had no time to spare. She threw open the lid to one crate-the crown prince’s disregard for her requests denied her the space required to fulfill both her needs and proper, traditional sensibilities. Another matter that had to be addressed another time. Regardless, she found her precious coils of rope inside. Grabbing a whole pile of coils, she dumped them beside Ichirin and went to work. Step by step, she replaced thin ribbons with thick, firm cords.

Her captive kept whining as she worked, but the socks held out well enough, so Futo ignored her. She started by removing the blue ribbon, then the red. She lashed wrists together with fresh rope, then forearms. Ichirin screamed as her elbows were wrenched nearly against one another, but Futo still paid her muffled voice no heed. Instead, she moved to the woman’s legs. Yellow and green came off so she could lash ankle to… she paused. Ichirin gluped. Futo stroked her captive’s inner thigh. For a moment, her finger even wandered further. It rubbed beneath the skirt, across a the surface of soft, cotton panties. She grinned, folded one leg against itself, then tied ankle to thigh. She similarly folded and tied the next leg. Then, still smiling, she ripped Ichirin’s hood off and undid, then removed her kesa-her tabard. From there, she slowly, gently, unbuttoned her captive’s blouse, until she’d exposed a simple, blue bra.

“Thine taste in undergarments doth be rather plain. Yet most pleasing do I find these, nonetheless~”

Ichirin threw her head from side to side. She screeched into her own socks, only to cough and choke on their taste, a second later. Futo just pushed that bra up to expose a pair of smooth, puffy pink nipples. For a moment, her sense of shame fled, allowing her to lower her head down and lick the sweat off each one. Ichirin tasted salty, of course. Salty and coarse. But still Futo’s nostrils flared. She wanted more. She-no, no! She shook her head, then pulled back. She turned to another crate. This was to be the betrayer’s punishment, not some bout of personal entertainment!

She retrieved a couple of her personal treasures. Deep red candles. She grabbed a simple match as she set them beside Ichirin. Then, lighting it, she in turn lit one candle and hoisted it over her captive. The Brilliant blue eyes burst wide open. But more importantly, those lovely, firm breasts quivered. Grinning, Futo shifted the candle over them and, with but a gentle flick, tossed a splotch of hot wax across one. Ichirin screeched, clenching her bound hands into fists and arching her back.

Futo giggled. “What doth the matter be, ye wicked Buddhist? Doth the flame of betrayal burn too deep?”

She flicked a red splattering across the other breast. Ichirin hissed. But a simple glance told Futo this would not be enough. The woman must be punished more severely than that. But she needed more bare skin to hit with her wax. So, it was for entirely necessary reasons that she pushed her captive’s skirt up to her hips, and that she pulled those blue panties down her bound thighs. So covered in seat, the captive’s scent washed over her, eliciting a faint, warm shudder. Ichirin shuddered. She wheezed. But Futo only smiled as she flicked fresh splashes of wax across those bare, smooth thighs. And then across-she hissed. Some wax had grazed her own fingers. The candle was burning a little too short. So, she huffed and… and a wide smile split her face. She crouched down beside her captive and, holding her down with one hand, placed that candle atop one nipple. A long, muffled scream poured from Ichirin’s mouth as wax dripped down its side, further burning her breast. But Futo just hummed, grabbed another candle, and lit it off the first.

“Thou hid thy schemes in darkness, thus I shall burn it away in the light and truth of flames~”

Giggling, she soon splattered more wax across the Buddhist’s bound, squirming body. Across her chest, her thighs, her shoulders and… and a few drops even seared the poor woman’s trimmed bush and the-Futo gulped-the lips beneath. Ichirin shuddered now, too exhausted to do more. Her breaths came muffled strained, her wide, moist eyes fixed on the candle burning atop her breast. At least, until Futo shifted her own candle over the spared nipple. Weakly, with tears budding in her eyes, Ichirin shook her head. But her captor placed the candle down all the same. A fresh scream leapt from the captive’s throat as Futo dusted her hands off. That, surely, was sufficient punishment for such deception. And yet, as she stared down on the women before her, she felt her heart stir. Not with pity, but… with desire. She stared upon the squirming, wax-splattered Buddhist before her. At the burning, gentle breasts. The firm, smooth thighs. The delicate shoulders. The soft, shallow belly, barely visible beneath the mess of skirt and blouse. And those lips between her legs. Futo needed but one last item. One thing to claim that which the monk had teased her with, only to then turn and assault her, emotionally and physically.

“There be yet one final matter. One-” Futo flushed, not entirely sure how to justify her final step. The last action of… punishment? “Thine unfair assault hast, um, violated mine heart. Therefore, I shall violate thine body!” As she spoke, she peeled out a long, smooth, rubber cock. One conveniently arranged to have a flared head at either end. Ichirin gurgled in pain, sweat pouring from her skin, as Futo peeled her own humble white panties off and tossed them aside. As she then pressed one head against her own, puffier mound. She grunted, then pushed that head inside. It had little trouble, as a light trickle had, it seemed, already oozed from her sheath.

Her own, more humble breasts shuddered at the sensation of the dildo stuffing her. Then, when she looked upon her captive, two brilliant candles still burning atop her, Futo could not help a light moan. She dropped to her knees, then shuffled forward, until the other head rested atop Ichirin’s crotch. Her captive’s face froze into a wide-eyed, teary stare. She even adjusted her folded, bound legs to try to push Futo out. But the hermit needed but one hand on one knee to hold her open, to push the dildo against the folds of a far drier pussy, and to-Ichirin hissed-to drive it in.

That one push was enough to drag a hungry gasp from Futo’s lips. Long, shuddering breaths poured over her captive as she ground her way in, inch by inch. She gulped, then slid back. Pleasure and need twisted within her, coiling in her gut and spilling from her pussy in a steady, slick trickle. The treacherous, beautiful scoundrel felt so, so good. Even the Buddhist’s weak but persistent opposition, her resistance, just added to it all. Futo thrust her hips forward, grinding herself down the dildo and pushing it deeper into her captive. She released a fresh moan, long, loud, and hungry. Ichirin’s face burned almost as red as her tortured breasts, but she could do nothing to even slow her captor down, anymore. So, Futo pushed in and drew back. She stuffed her captive just a bit further down, a bit deeper, with each thrust. Each pump of her own hips on their shared dildo. Soon, muffled whimpers, then hiccups, rose into the air, adding to the chorus in Futo’s heart. Then, as her hips rocked and her heart pounded, her captive broke out into ragged, garbled sobbing.

“Hast, thou,” Futo grunted between each pump and thrust, “given, up, thy-ah!-wicked, ways?”

But no answer returned. Nothing but further sobbing as she pumped, then pounded, the dildo. But to her warm, hazy mind, that was fine. She gasped, stunned at the sheer, dripping warmth that assaulted her. The burning desire. The blinding pops that struck her with each violent thrust. With moans and long, hungry pants pouring from her lips, her hands soon fell atop her captive’s stomach. She planted them down for support as she beat her hips against the dildo. As she dragged gasps and squeals from her captive’s lips. Ichirin had started to shiver. Whether in pleasure or terror, Futo had no hope of telling. Not with sweat now seeping into her own dress and pouring from her chin, nor with her ravenous cunt screaming for more. More vigor, deeper thrusts, a more intimate touch of Ichirin’s-

Futo’s head swung back. Long, violent quakes tore up and down her body. Her juices still poured down the dildo. A long, ecstatic gasp leapt from her throat. And then, at last, the quakes slowed. Her lungs calmed. Her limbs sagged. It had been what? Years? No, centuries. Centuries since she felt like that. Since any partner ever brought her quite so high. And now, she knew. She knew it was dangerous. Far more dangerous than the proposition she had so committed herself to refusing before. But she could not even hope to resist it. She needed to feel that again. She would keep her captive. However long she could. She would use this wicked woman. She would teach her. She would enlighten her. And she was certain the Buddhist had something to deserve it all. Something she would… figure out later.

Futo leaned forward, hovering her sweat-soaked face over Ichirin’s. Her captive stared back through eyes now red, puffy, and soaked in tears. Futo drew a hand along the woman’s scalp, peeling a few locks of hair from those beautiful eyes. “Thou… art delicious. Welcome, to thy, new… home~”