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Miss Keine Kamishirasawa of the history school swept around the staff room like a maître d’ moments before a bomb went off in the kitchens. The pageant of her done-up raincoat coming more and more undone by the jiggle would have been more arresting if Miss Keine hadn’t been apologising profusely or, for preference, doing what she was apologising for, which was to say producing from the cabinets of the room ever more pressing paperwork. On the broad, military-style desk by the staff room’s single, rain-greyed window, assignments and typeset fill-in-the-blanks piled up architectonically.

“Thank you once again,” said Miss Keine with rattlesnake speed; “and, once again, I am sorry. This really, really is an emergency. I’ll make this up to you, of course I will. Thank you. And, I’m sorry. This is the last set, promise.”

A thumb-tick file thumped on the desktop, fanning out its immediate neighbours. It looked not unlike a card-riffling accident.

The man behind the desk stared. A faint smile hovered around the outskirts of his lips. It was a smile that met your daughter’s mysterious boyfriend of two weeks. He twirled a fountain pen between his fingers as though contemplating deforestation.

“… It’s,” he said, manfully self-controlled, “fine, Miss Keine. All in the job description, isn’t it… just?”

The flurried teacher gave his odd pause no second guess. She bowed as low as her waist. “I’m so sorry, Taiki!” There was some consternation as her coat popped suddenly half-open, but soon gone. Miss Keine straightened up and smiled in a distracted way. “It is the Kijou; their son is marrying a very conscientious woman next week, and they wanted my eye over the wedding contract. The parents, too, have some qualms, I hear, since they are nobility and the girl hails from priestry; there is the matter of the dowry for that cause, or omitting thereof, religious clauses, landing issues, vows, it’s a right mess…”

Taiki nodded along to the teacher’s bumbling, wearing an expression made from his work. He held his breath like a thrashing fairy.

In the woodchip-scented, under-desk gloom, the fingers which’d hooked under his already lowered trousers skinned them down his knees and to the ankles. His underwear wasn’t far late in following. There was movement in the metaphorical underworld and then a quite forcefully literal spreading of Taiki’s helpless thighs. Cum-foamed lips slid flush around the bare glans of his dick, already distressing his renewed erection to its root. Overgrown fingernails scratched along his naked haunches. A thankfully faint, erotic smack marked the lips’ unthankfully resumed caress of his third hard-on of the afternoon. A soft, wet and exceedingly hot tongue lapped his engorged tip before retracting, lousy with precum, to make way.

Taiki’s self-control flexed its cordy muscles. He looked at the fair if hard teacher who paid his wages while, down below and out of her sight, advances were paid in liquid currency to every inch of his cheerful shaft as they passed between airtight lips and into a sultry and tremendously well-practiced mouth. Inch behind inch behind inch. He’d hit tonsils at this pace before Miss Keine might take her leave – and leave. His loins clenched.

And there the tonsils were, tight as a virgin slit against his tip. Taiki let go of a last-ditch grunt, his dick throbbing top to bottom, desperate to feel those lips wrap around its base and the tonsils squeezing past the ridge of its glans. Saliva and old dick-lube from the previous, interrupted blowjob slobbered down the lonely span of his shaft from the loosened, teasing mouth. The tongue undulated against his dick’s ridged underbelly, up and down, up and down, goading fresh precum up his urethra. With more than moderate success.

“Come again? Taiki?”

Miss Keine’s question marks could do to a young man what it takes quite a bit of voltage and a washbasin to do to an old one – and she’d used two. Taiki scrunched up what he’d fancied his long-buried schoolboy alongside an earthy swathe of his face. Downstairs, his hips lifted into the suction, begging mutely for the deepthroat even if it should blow their cover collateral with his load. He laid down his pen and gave the kind of anguished expression which was equally as false as it was unfeigned.

“… Crap,” he croaked, much to the teacher’s incisive frowning. “Crap, Miss Keine,” he repeated, carried on the audacity. “Got to go… do, before I sit down to this. Sorry for being so blunt; you’ve been tarrying forever, so I’m in a mess here. Almost. Sorry,” he added dutifully.

There was a creak of stiff mores as the square-toed teacher plotted her way around the objectionable nature of bodily functions.

“I… understand,” she ruefully conceded. “Yes. Um. I am sorry—”

“Go, Miss Keine. I’ll care for things here. That’s what you have me for. Yes? No?”

Her underbite slotted back into her dainty jawline. She looked at Taiki’s familiar, reliable and above all pleading face.

“Of course,” she sighed. Then said it again, as though unconvinced the first time around: “Of course. If you will…”

“I will, Miss Keine.”

“… If you will, please do keep the fire in the water heater going. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Mokou may come by nearer the evening; please tell her if she does I oughtn’t be longer than sundown. There’s leftover donburi on the stove. She may reheat it on the stove or… she may reheat it.”

“I’ll pass it on, ma’am,” said Taiki, feeling bony arms slither round the small of his back. Hard, erect nipples scraped up the insides of his thighs. The steamy duress on the crown of his dick was turning coercive. The cum-slick lips suckled his shaft like an anatomically incorrect teat. “I’ll… pass on…”

Miss Keine’s uprightness didn’t budge even as she turned around, except a wobble of her decloaked bust.

“Then if you’ll excuse me…”

Taiki maturely excused the officious teacher as she trotted in her platform shoes (“Height ever equals authority in tradition,” to hear her tell it) for the staff room’s exiting door. There was a nod, a twist of the handle, a mouthed apology since this was Miss Keine, and then she was through.

The door hadn’t sooner shut behind her than the mouth under the desk dropped precipitously down his shaft, tonsils parting, plunging his raw glans into the wet, cramped gullet beyond like the head of an exceptionally demoralising battering ram. The lips rendezvoused the meaty foundations of his spire, smooching his hilt and crotch like a spurned lover and spurned themselves before the unreal heat and pressure of the throat engulfing the top half of his bare dick. Taiki counted seconds, nails biting the insides of his fists, before Miss Keine attained the school’s front entrance and the edges of the picture.

Upon the twentieth and a distant screech of misaligned hinges, the history school’s trainee attendant cuffed the laden desktop, knocked back his chair, scrambled to his feet and, gripping the slab of wood as though it were his own, thrust down against the face making out with his erection. He didn’t get more than a finger’s width deeper into the oppressively stifling, airless throat but received a frantic little gurgle from below, and that seemed adequate payback.

Taiki groaned his satisfaction, bridled his every faculty… and then groaned on several more counts as he hauled his pulsing dick out of the throat, back past the tonsils, along the tongue and out the clinging, sucking lips. Spittle sprayed the office carpet once the tip popped free, tainted white and portending a future of scrubbing. The sheer momentum of escape threw Taiki backwards onto his chair.

Miss Mokou stumbled out from under the desk on all-threes, the remaining hand vigorously busy inside her suspender pants.

He hadn’t agreed to this. The fuzzy agreeableness tingling along his every fibre – not bypassing the moral one – was a bastard and not to be entertained. Taiki glared doggedly at Miss Keine’s long friend, panting appropriately. Miss Mokou’s threadbare, off-white shirt was undone, leaving her middling but appetisingly perky bust framed between the galluses of her pants. As were her forehead, lips and chin, there too was slathered in the sticky previous hour’s yield: ropes of cum bridging the twin hills of her breasts and smeared film-thin where she’d kneaded it into their rosy peaks. A worry-free half-smile occupied the aforesaid features of her face, the same she’d worn when first inveigling Taiki in her fancies, with no signage of going home. It did jerk once on its flatter side when she’d hit a better spot than most in her relentless schlicking, but that was it.

The history school didn’t open its coffers – or, realistically, Miss Keine’s purse – for him to contend with this. Taiki’s job, which his employer had been in tears to have found anybody interested in taking, lay in sheaves on the desk, the shelves and inside the occasional water heater. A randy, young woman in pantaloons hadn’t featured anyplace but for the background of these quotidian tasks: sometimes lounging at the back of the class, sometimes playing roughshod dodgeball with the boys, being on occasion pampered by Miss Keine’s overspilling maternal instinct. They’d exchanged the spontaneous pleasantries – but never bodily fluids.

Then Miss Mokou had caught him with the pants down, where the pants had been Miss Keine’s rare and unprompted, earlier knocking-off time from the school. Taiki hadn’t expected to do more than polish off his scribal work and close up. Miss Mokou had. She’d just released the children home from what surely hadn’t been an off-the-cuff economics class in the schoolyard if her dirtied clothes and scuffed elbows were telling – and had found Taiki afoul in the staffroom of fixing to sour their moods on the morrow with very fair grades on their latest quizzes.

There’d been the quid pro quo of statuses usual of vaguely acquainted adults in a workplace, the bonding snicker over the term “blooming devils,” a question after the schoolmistress and then Miss Mokou’s seating herself sideways up across on Taiki’s desk. And a pause threaded through with somebody’s future stern talking at home.

“… Got groped again by one of the elder boys,” Miss Mokou had said after a consideration. “Tai… chi? Kid with a name alike to yours. Grabbed my tits full-on while we was tangling for the ball. Third time this week; it’s growing tricky to shrug off.”

Taiki had looked up… and then farther up. “That,” he’d tactfully decided, “had best be complained about to Miss Keine, not me.”

The tousled Miss Mokou had canted her head, owllike, to meet the suggestion with a likewise blink. “Complain, huh?” She’d given it a thought. Singular. “No. No, no. The kid’s just at that age. Can’t pretty well help it. Give ‘im yet a few years; he’ll be over it hoppity-skip and some experience under his belt to boot. No skin off my teeth. It’s just the… the wossname, human condition for you.”

Sure, ma’am,” Taiki had granted. He’d said it quite politely but squeezed enough lemon into his voice to shrivel weeds or, in this instance, apprise Miss Mokou of her linguistic confusion precluding the need for a spade. “Sure, no need. No harm, no foul,” he’d added, eyes withdrawing where they’d been hired to be.

“Mm. A bit of foul, actually,” Miss Mokou had revised.

“Oh yes?”

“Yes. I’m turned on as all hecks. Nips-poking-through-the-shirt turned on. Could go for a quickie... or, heck, a fingerbang.”

A furious, red line had stroked through a kanji that’d effect much technical debate later on.

Taiki had cleared his throat – if not his conscience. “… Go rub one out?”

At which Miss Mokou had snorted, “Wiseass. What’d you reckon I’ve been doing hitherto? Gets dull. I’m no epitome of imaginativeness; toys from fertility festivals only go so far. Can’t bugger the kids and call it education, either – much as they’d jump me. Keine’d gore me to death. Hah.”

“Sure there are men in the village—”

“Men who talk,” Miss Mokou had sighed. “And I’ll be around far longer than any. Can’t have that rumour mill trundling after me; don’t need the attention. Nor more fools needing out of the Forest of the Lost. No, no. Those won’t do. But. But…”

“… But?”

“But you…

Taiki had gone hot and cold all at once: regularly something that’d warrant seeing a doctor or at least a philosopher, but on which Miss Mokou had turned an indifferent back. Or, for preciseness’s sake, the front. Legs had swung. Unshod feet slapped the armrests on either side of Taiki. The student’s essay had suddenly a red, flipped-V-shaped headline to it.

“You,” Miss Mokou had gone on overhead; “you wouldn’t talk. You like it here. Your numbers, your books. Always wanted to be in Keine’s shoes. Up on that lectern. Tapping the… wossname, stick thing on the blackboard as you, what, pass on the torch of civilisation to the younger generations?”

Taiki had blushed. Then determined he hadn’t. “Since I was the younger generation myself. Yes. Indeed. Thank you,” he’d reeled off. “Was there a point attached to that or was I meant to prick myself solely on your toenails?”

Miss Mokou had laughed, the kind of laugh that raises the corners of a man’s mouth against his stoicism. “See?” she’d commended him. “You know how to talk; you don’t just do it. Meaning you’ll know not to when Keine asks about what we’ve been up to back here. That is if you want to keep the job. That girl has starch for blood, bless her.”

“Is this,” he’d asked, leery, “the storied ‘blackmail,’ Miss Mokou?”

“It is a very real threat.”

Taiki had sat back in his chair, twirling his teacherly-empowered pen and then, because petty vengeance was a fearsome allure, scraped an error line where his learning promised Miss Mokou’s soleus ought to be, but where he’d found mostly rather a cute ankle. He’d harrumphed. It’d been the harrumph of a scholar who’d spotted a misprint in an opponent’s thesis and wasn’t about to be understanding.

“We have not, Miss Mokou, been ‘up to’ anything. Got it on good authority.”

“Not yet,” she’d admitted; “but, you’ll be groaning and slamming your cock balls-deep inside me right on this desk in a minute, so it’s a void argument.”

Taiki had pinched his eyes shut, determined to lay upon the obscene girl the iciest stare on this side of the Kelvin scale. It would melt on Miss Mokou’s unbuttoned neckline and truthful description of the state of her shirt. He’d faced down a lifetime of knowing Miss Mokou’s nipples were the colour of cherry candy and could get just as hard. Nowhere, however, as hard as the erection raised in his trousers once Miss Mokou had pushed into them with the erroneous foot. She’d had them undone and his tip peeking out the band of his underwear in a trice. The band had then been peeled, with apelike dexterity, down his vainglorious length, bumped all along by Miss Mokou’s bare toes.

“Ah-ha,” she’d said, taking in every stout inch he’d had to offer. “Nice cock.”

“Gosh, thanks,” Taiki had said, wondering how many years he’d been stopping himself picking up his socks with his feet. “You’re no slouch yourself. Miss Mokou, listen; I must have you warned. I’ll not be of… too much help, here. Got me?”

Miss Mokou had, in fact, gotten him – altogether too swiftly for his self-esteem. “Ah. A virgin, have we?” She’d waited a reply and, when one hadn’t come, one had come. “All right. No problem. This is to the good, actually; we’ll save your cherry for your spouse. In return, I’ll show you a thing or a dozen about making girls squeal you won’t have learned in school.”

Taiki had looked around with ostentation. Miss Mokou had guffawed. A button had popped on her shirt as if conniving.

“… And you,” she’d gone on to say, picking the rest herself, “you’ll help me brush up my oral. Must be half a century since I sucked a cock on the regular… let alone wanted to. Hands, mouth, no sex. No butt-stuff. Kissing is fine if you’re willing to learn tongue. Sound like a deal?”

“Between the three of us,” Taiki had said with a nod his nether-wise, “I reckon I’m being left out of the talks.”

“Then let us two wiser ones,” Miss Mokou had advanced, sliding off the desk and going to her knees smack between his, “persuade you of the merits.”

The merits had turned out plentiful: all over Miss Mokou’s face and hair in the main. And, come the next occasion they’d wound up together outside Miss Keine’s purview, Taiki would find himself standing in the middle of the staff room with his arms full of Miss Mokou, of which one down Miss Mokou’s pants and giving Miss Mokou’s lessons right back to Miss Mokou’s instructive place, striving all the while not to cum inside his own pair from hotdogging Miss Mokou’s modest but decently supple rear. She’d forgo Miss Keine’s lectures in favour of whisking Taiki away for private classes in the school’s athenaeum: often lengthy as the lectures themselves, recurrently covering the methods of pepping up a dick that’s just gone off a third time in a row between a girl’s breasts and concluding nearly always with the questions of: “Where’s the damn, cough, damn towel?” and “How many times’d I tell you, you pervert, not to splurge in my hair?! I’ll cook you!”

Over a fortnight Taiki’s middle and ring fingers had grown more acquainted with the sensations of Miss Mokou’s wringing orgasms than they’d been with the insides of his mum’s preserve jars. And little tyke Taiki had loved preserves.

In not so many words, he and Miss Mokou had become something for which the woman closest to them both had found the term “chummy.”

Taiki was more partial to “the end of one of us.”

And several months later he thought it hadn’t ever rung truer than today. The masturbating Miss Mokou on the floor wasn’t the ugliest harbinger of doom mythology supplied, but Taiki would’ve wished his death remained of the smaller and staggered variety. Osculating in the staff room with a class underway beyond the door had been cutting it close; maintaining a hard-on with Miss Keine scurrying around had been taking scissors to his balls-hair. Cultured right until you slipped. Then there’d come screaming.

Now hindsight had given it the chance to strut its hour, Taiki savvied onto that he would’ve risked a dozen headbutts to his Corinthian helm to cum to Miss Keine’s attempts to cram her bust inside a coat two fingers too tight. Miss Mokou may have owned his dick from the word “quickie,” but lately she’d been burning her brand onto his soul. The brand was a certain rude shape.

The chair, which, miracle of miracles, hadn’t gone lame under Taiki’s plummeting backside was put through the longer haul as the corrupt school assistant wiggled his feet out of the peeled-down underpants and trousers. His dick, having weathered the danger and only come out harder for the experience, throbbed in his hand once Taiki stood and gave it a reinforcing stroke. Saliva and precum stuck his shaft to the partner who’d never again satisfy him like it’d used to.

Ahead of him Miss Mokou, who very much would, climbed wordlessly from her knees and up to a spread-legged squat. Taiki stepped forth until his shins were braced against the insides of her thighs and his erection lay latitudinally across the girl’s upturned face. There was rather a beatific sigh for a place of learning, and Taiki could feel the brand sizzling on his spirituality. Miss Mokou radiated lust. Moreover what Miss Mokou radiated was also a smell that could’ve caused a room of schoolmarms to implode. It was the reek of sweat and smoke; it was the pancake-batter tang of cum bathing her face and breasts; over everything else, it was the sordid stink of a girl who’d been masturbating in her clothes for near on an hour without taking them off. Gods of Gensokyo alone knew, and they weren’t telling, how Miss Keine hadn’t smelt the nasty oral sex transpiring under her trainee’s desk. Or seen her friend’s dowdy, ankle-length hair sticking out any-old-how from below.

The aforesaid sex recommenced right now, with Miss Mokou thrusting out her tongue for Taiki to ride his veiny length along. He did so and not one inch less, reapplying her warm spit all down his dick’s underbelly from the slimy pad. Miss Mokou disapproved, as women were wont to – and redid the chore for him harder, wetter, twice over and rounding off with a sloppy kiss on the part which got naughty girls like her pregnant. She swallowed the collected precum with a gulp, glad as pig in a muddle.

Taiki thumbed her happy chin and, retributing the smug smile, gave her a sharp slap on the cheek. Hurting girls in hot blood wasn’t his cup of tea, and actually hurting such girls as were capable of advanced pyromancy wouldn’t have wriggled into his meal unless he were stranded in an ice desert about to freeze, but Miss Mokou was threaded differently. Miss Mokou purred, squirming from the neck down – and sped the fingers excavating inside her pantaloons. Taiki could hear her precious place squishing and squelching around them. He smelt it when Miss Mokou withdrew the hand to twiddle one of her erect, pinchable nipples. It was overpowering. It made his dick flex and him want to renege on longstanding promises.

… Again.

But Taiki’s libido was self-possessed enough to know where to draw the line. A thick, curving one from Miss Mokou’s chin up to her forehead and over one eye. She pecked a languid kiss on the flank of his shaft as if consenting this was a pertinent spot to rest a dick.

“… Shaving it a little close, there,” he opined.

Miss Mokou hadn’t quit fiddling with her erogenous zones with Miss Keine in the room; she wasn’t about to with her outside of it. “Shaving is for prissy princesses,” she shot back. “I like it hairy.”

As you’re privy went unsaid.

“‘Hairy’ is right,” granted Taiki. He’d been contriving to shift a leg and rub Miss Mokou’s hairy place for her through her pants, but the girl joggled too much. Not unexplainably; the frisky peaks of Miss Mokou’s otherwise unpretentious breasts were so sensitive he’d once flicked them both and gotten kneed something livery for his efforts. The buds of making her cream her pants right there with his dick laid across her face were alas nipped. “… Too right,” he grunted. “What would you have done if she’d noticed? Huh, Miss Mokou?”

“Dodged first of—fff, everything,” she replied, an involuntary bite nipping the sentence’s tail. Heated breath swept around Taiki’s shaft in a series of gusts. “Try and lie to me, boy,” dared the dick-huffing Miss Mokou; “you wanted to fuck my throat then and there.”

“There is seldom a ‘then’ when I do not want to fuck your throat, Miss Mokou,” said Taiki, the vulgar words greased in their coming out by ongoing circumstance. “It is the ‘there’ where I raise concerns. In front of my boss nurturing more than one. It’s my livelihood, you see; it depends.

“I didn’t hear a ‘no.’”

Taiki scoffed. “Your throat’s the best girlfriend I’ve ever had, Miss Mokou; I wouldn’t hazard a break-up over a word.”

Miss Mokou gave him a scorching look. This was a possible non-euphemism where Miss Mokou was mixed up, but was in this case mercifully hyperbolic. “… It’s the only girlfriend you’ve had, you prick,” she reminded.

Of whom he was thoroughly undeserving by the writ of fire in Mokou’s eyes – even if her mouth did form a cock-fitting O through which to court his girlfriend while cheating on her flagrantly with Miss Mokou’s lips and tongue. Taiki backed out his dick to where she may go about swallowing it at her own leisure, emboldened by the back-and-forth and wondering, not for the first time, where such a hermetic woman had stepped in her irrumation streak.

He was obliquely aware of Miss Mokou’s “condition,” the way a scientifically read man is aware of religion. It was there, it wasn’t communicable, so he left it to the carrier to manage. On the one occasion he’d questioned out loud the interplay between the purported long-livedness and Miss Mokou’s procreative itches, she’d annexed his lap and tongued him fiercely for long, suffocating minutes ahead she’d answered in fluent (if breathless) ontological:

“Centuries pass; fancies crop up. Out of the world, out of the torpid mind. They run their course, rarely stay. The brain loathes routine. It is how it is.”

It was the wossname – the human condition.

“I’ve had so many phases I’d make the Moon blush pink. Now never ask me again, booky boy, and buy that elder student a dance or something. And take out that fat cock, already. I can tell it’s gone up.”

In the abstract, he was the convenient outlet for Miss Mokou’s inconvenient currents.

The snub should have unmanned him. The firm concurrence of his man-bits stayed that from being the case. What goes around, after all, comes around. If not thumped with a book it may occasion fancying. And then you got this.

Miss Mokou’s lips pursed on the glans of his dick. The white foam at their corners was pushed aside as they slid on down along the exposed, pink stretch men dreaded and craved having touched and then the bulging, mouth-cramming meat of the shaft. Miss Mokou paused, screwed her head left to right to left as though to fine-tune the angle of entry and lastly turned her eyes up in what might’ve been a coquettish way if she hadn’t sincerely believed coquettes to be a kind of exotic and grotesque food. Their gazes met; and Taiki felt a tremor somewhere in the area of his reasonableness in addition to his manhood’s.

Miss Mokou looked fantastic sucking dick. It may have been a crude view to hold (and suicidal to release), but not unaccountable. Miss Mokou came from the genus of Gensokyan woman you would’ve given a wide berth in the street if her mass of hair (that you could see), stride, and voluminous pants hadn’t been purpose-made to fill out any berths given. She was confidence on legs and, thus, the natural anthesis to scholastic, inkhorn men like Taiki. He hadn’t considered her above a loosely female-shaped accessory to the workplace until she’d displayed to him how, in fact, productively that confidence worked under his “nice” but equally book-learned dick. She wasn’t his type but then, he’d suspected, he wasn’t hers either, and they’d gotten off very fine. That being the uppermost thing on Miss Mokou’s mind these days anyhow.

How the assertive fellatio – or all its heretofore iterations had – propelled her to this end was anybody’s except Taiki’s body’s guess; still and all, even his water-thin testosterone couldn’t dilute the spice of such a puissant woman giving her facial features over wholesale to his pleasure. The thousand-year-old, placid stare upwards of her stuffed, puckered lips drove his dick to palpitations. Had he not spewed already over a pint of precum altogether down Miss Mokou’s throat, today could have been a head start. The luckier part of his dick marinating in the salivary spa of her mouth made fast work of it all over the back of Miss Mokou’s coddling tongue. She swallowed – and then swallowed some more, throat rippling – stretched the cocksure mouth wide open – and threw her nose for a meeting with his groin.

To add to his bulkily erudite nature, the pervert deities of Gensokyo had seen fit to endow Taiki with a voice like a rutting bear’s. The only part of him complimented both by Miss Keine and Miss Mokou came out in its volume as the ram-head of his dick plugged the latter admirer’s airways in the wake of a choked “Nngk—!”

Taiki staved off his eyes’ rolling backwards in their sockets from the shunt of bliss from her tonsils skidding down his shaft with a rock-ribbed man’s will. He might never see those ribs until buried for a well few weeks; but still, he hadn’t cut down on after-work dango and taken to doing sit-ups at bedtime not to avail himself now of the sacrifice’s results. Which were, to wit, the clear, unobstructed view of Miss Mokou’s pale lips closing around the very base of his furiously stiff dick.

So stiff, he’d hardly felt the strangling grip of Miss Mokou’s gullet on its happier end until she’d begun, without relenting the pressure, to haul it back out of her throat. The ridge of his helplessly bare glans wedged stuck on the walls of her constricted passage – even as her lips worked the dick’s opposite end with bouts of halting, gruelling suction. Her spit-wet tongue flicked out between them and the rigid girth of his shaft: half to lube it up for smoother removal and half to enhance the seal on her sucking lips. All throughout this, Miss Mokou stared up at Taiki, as unruffled as her hair wasn’t. The latter of whom presently clutched a fistful of the aforesaid and pulled – almost to the point of pain.

Then, by desperate degrees, past it.
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Miss Mokou’s eyes – and he’d pass away thinking of these eyes – narrowed in distress as her throat did the contrary and loosened around the aching crown of his dick. Taiki squared his shoulders and set his face in the disabused grimace of a man who’d pledged on his young life to last longer and didn’t stand a dick’s chance in an immortal girl’s mouth of achieving it. Miss Mokou’s lips glossed his laboriously retreating shaft, every inch and vein sheened with slick meticulosity, whereas her gullet heaved and snagged and dragged along the touchy fringe of his glans. Taiki ground his teeth. His knees teetered from the stupefying pleasure of the callous suck-job. His hips wobbled like a girl’s.

And then the tonsils were there; and Miss Mokou blinked, gagging, as the widest part of Taiki’s throbbing, peaking dick cleared the well-lubed straits. It struck her palate like a spring-loaded hammer.

It was the strike that broke the Government of Taiki’s backbone. The opening shot of violent, sticky pacification burst into Miss Mokou’s mouth, crashing on her palate, even before the numb ecstasy of the orgasm had flooded his loins and crumpled the small of his back. He croaked and tugged on Miss Mokou’s hair but could no more impress on her to let off with his strength evacuating than he could while in full rein of his uncultivated muscles. Cum gushed in hot spates up his hard, pulsing shaft, slipping under the tight ring of Miss Mokou’s lips and spraying the back of her expanded throat. It seemed not to matter to anybody but Taiki’s this time that he’d delivered his load twice already on Miss Mokou’s perky breasts and carefree face; youth did its wicked thing and kept him cumming enough to knock up a whole gaggle of fairies in one go.

… Or one immortal, despite her averred sterility, had the events ensuing been let to reach their natural conclusion.

Ahead of everything, sooner than Taiki could shoot his last or even his middle, the kinky Miss Mokou had gulped down whatever so far he’d spewed in her mouth, only to next pump it – once, twice then thrice in a rush – down his bucking, cumming length for a yet more powerful finish. Taiki growled, ursine as he went, from the blissful torment, the overstimulated glans of his dick near-purple around the circumference as it sprang out of the pan of Miss Mokou’s lips and into the fire of her pitiless hands. She gripped his engorged, spouting shaft – flinched when a rope of pressurised cum streaked her forehead – aimed him down at the shallow, cream-white gully between her breasts and, because “mercy” wasn’t an entry in Miss Mokou’s lexicon, commenced jacking him off through the ejaculation.

Cum coated her breasts, squirt after dragooned squirt, soon to dribble from their pink, jutting peaks. He twinged from inguen to neck, clinging to Miss Mokou’s hair for structural and moral support.

The normal course of action for somebody of Taiki’s vocal persuasion would be to roar and paw mightily at the girl torturing your sensitive implements, but that wasn’t what happened because, what did happen was, Miss Mokou shoved the hand with which she wasn’t roughly milking his dick down her pantaloons and popped the buttons on their front.

The smell bowled over the sordid tang of his own and blasted up Taiki’s flared nostrils. The smell of Miss Mokou’s sweaty bush. The smell of what registered, in the absence of sagacity filters, as Miss Mokou’s horny, unfilled and unfulfilled vagina. The stench of a woman pining for sex. A gap was wedged open in the pants, enough wide to showboat to Taiki from and up to where in Miss Mokou’s belly he would have been if they’d been doing this entire thing proper.

And it was at the gap she now sighted his sputtering dick, jerking her hand harder and faster to prevent it going soft.

The last vestiges of the massive, nut-wringing orgasm spattered on Miss Mokou’s silvery bush. Taiki wrenched open his trachea and breathed – amazed at once he’d altogether forgotten to and that he still could. His head swam. His stomach fluttered. His dick felt like hell and all the more inflamed for it that Miss Mokou’s fingers were still ringing its chubby girth and kneading. Though, she was blessedly more man-wise than to touch anywhere near the delicate, puffed-up tip and merely stroked the base of his shaft, keeping it tingly and firm. Which was as well, since if it’d been otherwise, the school would have needed new windows set in. And a fresh pair of eardrums for Miss Mokou.

Taiki panted and, denied the post-splurge clarity usually accorded, almost thrust his unbroken erection deeper into Miss Mokou’s fist for a masochistic encore. He’d cum minutes apart before, but seconds seemed suddenly not just a dinnertime thing anymore. His dick swelled achingly in her grip, prying the slim, feminine fingers a little apart. Miss Mokou paid its idiot giddying no heed.

The reason why was because all of Miss Mokou’s earthly heed was on scooping the thick, gluey cum from her anointed breasts and stuffing it up her unrealised vagina.

It was hot, snug and – now – even slimier inside. Taiki knew this even as he watched Miss Mokou’s middle and ring fingers bend under her crotch then slip up her dripping, antsy honeypot, because his own – fingers, not the empathic female receptacle – had been regular and deeper-probing frequenters, on account of their span, than Miss Mokou’s may strain to be. The essential difference was that he’d never fiddled with Miss Mokou’s vagina such as she was now, cum and girl-lube sloshing down her knuckles, not least because impregnating her so on accident while skipping the middleman smacked of spinelessness of invertebrate degree.

Miss Mokou, perched immovably on her end of the evolutionary ladder, didn’t care a mite. Her thighs quivered on either side of the lewd squat as she bumped a better spot inside herself, the lush mons tensing muscle-taut down in the pungent pit of her loosened pants. Her pert, cum-splattered nipples looked hard enough to slice glass. They didn’t in actuality do much except make their owner momentarily delirious when she’d plucked her fingers out of her vagina to scrub the mess from their areolae, but remained an eyecatcher by and large and even larger once the cum-glazed fingers had plunged back inside where Miss Mokou enjoyed them the best. Her mouth would’ve been a dainty O of ecstasy if it hadn’t been a frantic, horny-teenage-girl grin.

Taiki’s dick reared in her less busy hand, motioning that, on this one, it could do with being a touch busier and, on the other, that that one may easily be rendered redundant with a minimal switch in the arrangements. Taiki mulled this at some length. An avenue had cleared of late wherethrough he’d trialled convincing Miss Mokou no strictly conjectural spouse would have an especial interest in his cherry, and on which Miss Mokou had invariably dropped the conversational portcullis. It did follow that he’d try again.

This he did, hacking off the cough of one who hadn’t had to manage any major blockages, excusing present company, and thus did it obviously for attention.

“… Miss Mokou,” he said, in his best considerate; “if there is where you want it, you need only to get up on this here desk.”

Miss Mokou’s eyes walked the arch of his hand-cuffed dick, misted over as only those of a girl previously off in her private dirty wonderland could be. They spoke louder than her subsequent words and utilising fewer syllables. About one, sibilant one, to be precise.

“… We’ve, hnn, gone over this,” she said nevertheless. “Ain’t we? This place—” here she showed him explicitly and energetically which place, “—thisss place, nhaa, is for only one man in Gensokyo. So beat iiit. Or I’ll beat you… off. Haa.”

Taiki sighed, but without jaundice. He knew down to the street address who and where the lucky man was.

The trouble was that Miss Mokou did not.

No count of weeks, neither, had hinted that she made whatsoever any effort to figure out his whereabouts. This was not, Taiki maintained, per se crucial, but he did wish she’d close that shameful chapter or, otherwise, the ongoing paragraph. She should have been, at her age, a lady faster on the uptake.

This one was taking its time, well, uptaking. It hadn’t been long since Miss Keine’s coining the word for his and Miss Mokou’s affiliation that the taking had begun; there had been a freak, early autumn frost one night, an impatient yuki-onna’s trick, and the school’s bell had iced stuck up on the tower. Miss Keine had eyed it from down in the schoolyard, rosy above her mittens, and then the nearby Taiki, who’d been no help in defiance of his gender, else than being approximately bell-shaped in his thick winter clothes.

“There. No helping it,” she’d puffed into her hands. “Got to get Mokou. She’ll have this thawed quick as a flash and no ladder needed. Could you? You two are chummy; she’ll be pleased to see you’ve remembered how to find her house. She’s freezing herself as we speak, I’ll be bound. Make the pair of you nice, hot pottage after morning classes. How about it?”

Taiki’s expression of distaste for unseasonable jogs had lasted for half a second more than Miss Keine’s eloquent look.

He’d jogged away. Not quite run, but he’d made it up in gravity.

Miss Mokou’s dwelling at the fringes of the Forest of the Lost wasn’t too difficultly found provided Miss Mokou hadn’t been feeling competitive that day and left a fire going on the hearth. A soot-black smudge extending for the sky between the bamboo stalks was then as best a guide as you could hope for outside of trading in your money or possibly your life. Taiki had arrived to the burnt-out clearing without incident and with his extremities mostly attached, even if they hadn’t felt so for the final mile.

In the middle of the ashen desolation somebody had once upon a time tacked together what could flirtatiously be called a cottage if that was your speed; Taiki had leant toward “Mokoushed” since he’d first stopped over. Smoke had coughed from the Mokoushed’s stack, insinuating much too damp kindling.

There’d been no door to exert manners on. A flap of hide from some too slow beast had barred the way into Miss Mokou’s den, parting easier before Taiki’s diffident “Miss Mokou…?” and decisive elbow anyway than a door would have for his knuckles.

Inside had been kitchen-warm and quiet but for the crackling of smouldering logs on the hearth. In a corner of the packed-dirt floor, face-down upon a straw pallet, a dishevelled Miss Mokou had lain fast asleep. Underneath Miss Mokou, toward the stern, a rolled-up blanket had shored up her rear in rather an uncompromisable position. There’d really been nothing left to compromise, really, because Miss Mokou’s pants had been around her ankles, and her firm, spreadable behind – on direct display.

As had been Miss Mokou’s female quarters. With a vegetarian twist.

The butt of a fat, ripe, green cucumber had been peeking out between her puffy labia. Girl-lube in dollops had oozed from the broken-off stem, steeping the blanket.

Taiki had paused. Then he’d shouldered aside the incongruity of a fresh cucumber in the dead of autumn and focused on the more congruous fact of Miss Mokou being a consummate pervert. He’d tiptoed slowly over to the pallet, an exercise scientifically affirmed to produce more noise from men of Taiki’s weight of personage than intense sex, and knelt behind Miss Mokou’s propped-up posterior. A score of nail-marks had been etched in her tasty, vitamin-filled boyfriend’s skin, intimating a degree of uncooperativeness on his part which she’d had to manually work around. The coral-pink, inner lips of her vagina had girdled him with all the dispatch of an orifice stretched to its obscenest limits. The neighbouring butthole – since Miss Mokou, as most girls, breathed with her diaphragm – had puckered and relaxed to the faint tune of her sinuses.

Taiki had aired his own, hissingly, the front of his fundoshi growing packed like the bar Geidontei on a half-off night. Thereon, shaky from untrained surreptition, he’d pinched the moist stem of Miss Mokou’s vegetable boyfriend – and pulled.

The plump cucumber had vacated her depths stretch by bumpy stretch, lustred and glazed all along by the supple, vaginal frills. It’d pop out of her with a plop and a squirt, on to tumble down the side of the compressed blanket and, all being well, be properly thrown out later. Miss Mokou’s vagina had gaped open in its unwanted absence, twitching and dripping and leaving scant any space for doubt among the tacky strings gluing its yawning walls together. There’d been no comic-book, banana-peel accident; Miss Mokou had taken the now-pickled cucumber for a ride of its life and fallen asleep at the wheel.

Somehow, Taiki’s trousers had been peeled down to his thighs. Someway, his bowed, bulging dick had been out of his underwear, erect and straining. And some-bloody-wise, its blunt, chubby tip had been trained straight at Miss Mokou’s agape vagina.

Conscience had brought its war-horn to bear.

This was no civilised way to wake a sleeping girl… but Taiki’s fat glans had already been fitting on Miss Mokou’s stretched-out labia. This’d fall under assault and no two paragraphs about it… but she’d assaulted him first, hadn’t she, by dint of technicality and with a foot no less. It’d be a breaking of trust, potentially of limbs… yet the sensation of Miss Mokou’s intimate parts whelming around the weakest part of his dick would have depraved a shorter virgin than he. There’d been a pang, a feeling of a cliff charged off of, and then the conscience had died in a faraway splatter.

Taiki had driven his hips on, delegating it to his dick to negotiate Miss Mokou’s steamy, honeyed passage. Himself, he’d smacked a palm on the nearby wall, struggling not to swoon. The hot and bothered labia had accepted and descended his rigid shaft, readier and greedier than they ever had his fingers, until he might no longer watch its progress around the bulk of his (body and) winter wear. But he’d felt it, still. He’d felt her creases slide by his raw glans; and he’d felt her entrance glide smoothly toward the base of his dick.

And then he’d bottomed her out, hips beaching against her butt.

The (not so) young woman who wouldn’t have fucked Taiki had been now being fucked by him in her sleep and panting softly from whatever wet dream she’d been having. The warm, motherly snugness wrapped all around his wayward erection hadn’t been by half as passionate or proactive as those of her mouth and throat; and yet, once push had come to shove and man had come to woman, the overtones of crime, of losing his V-card and having it picked up by a girl of Miss Mokou’s calibre in her obliviousness, had done what neither her mouth nor her throat nor even his own hands ever could.

They’d thrust him from ready to cumming in a single stroke.

He’d thought about pulling out. He really had. Only, his loins wouldn’t have heard of it and had remained moored to Miss Mokou’s cute rear even as an enormous, pent-up orgasm had rushed up and out of his fully sheathed dick – and right into Miss Mokou’s womb. He’d cum long and hard, writhing, groaning into his hanten’s sleeve, mourning his first time of a paltry few seconds – and pumping his slumbering sex-friend’s baby-room tight with a virile motherload. Miss Mokou’s bare vagina had drained him of everything he’d had, including, via the vacuum left behind, ostensibly a bowlful of his wits. He hadn’t ever felt so dumb ahead or since.

And he hadn’t pulled out, neither. Some areas of his body had protested that they’d had a note from Miss Keine, but his dick had been hard all over again by the time it’d quit sowing his seed in Miss Mokou’s womb. That base duty performed, it’d hankered after a workout. Taiki’d had but to extract it to half-shaft then cram it back down Miss Mokou’s plied depths for a try to find himself concurring.

For the better part of an hour, he’d fucked the sleeping Miss Mokou like he’d heard from his peers they’d fucked their first fairies. He’d drummed his hips quietly on her naked butt and stirred her cum-soaked vagina with his untiring dick. He’d reach down now and then to gather up and sniff her smutty hair, surprised and aroused that he’d learnt to savour its smell. He’d gone hog-wild in more than the purely rhetorical: a rutting boar discovering over and over what mother nature had designed it in great pains to do.

And he hadn’t at all noticed when Miss Mokou had woken up.

The veritable male pig named Taiki had been whetting his fifth consecutive hard-on on the by-then cum-smeared crack of her butt when her voice had pierced the cloud of sex-stink and pheromones. It had been winded – and tinged with butchery.

“Had your… fffun, yet?”

Taiki’s already overworked heart had attempted emergency ejection up his oesophagus. Miss Mokou hadn’t moved, prostrate as she’d been, but for the feeble trembling of her buttocks.

Listen,” she’d hissed. “Listen to me well now, man. I won’t look back. I won’t demand your name or why. Get up and go. Run. I’m giving you as long as it takes me to clean off. If I catch you, you’re burnt skin. You’re dust. Ash on the wind. Bones in the sun. Get me? This is your life. GET UP AND GO.”

This time, he had run. He’d run – and become the first man in history to overexplain to his employer why he’d gotten lost in the Bamboo Forest of the Lost.

And almost – not all but, but near enough – history himself after a night without a wink of sleep.

Who’d drag him by the short and curlies out of the gloom would be none other than Miss Mokou… by cornering him in the school’s staff room and conveying to him the story of the best sex she’d had since memory served. Of some nameless brute, perchance a youkai, barging into her hut to put her passed-out body through its womanly paces. Of awakening turned on as sin and in the process of being knocked up. Of her first ever – and second, and third – orgasm from penetration that she could recall. Of the many times he’d filled up her poor, dysfunctional womb before she’d plucked up her heart and vowed on him the fiery Fujiwara vengeance.

“Think some of his spunk’s still inside me,” she had said, moonily. “Tried to rinse it out after he’d scarpered, but yunno… hard-to-reach nooks. This doesn’t put you off, speaking of, does it?” She’d patted the front of the speechless Taiki’s trousers. And grinned like a cat about to get creamed. “Ah-ha. That stripe of thing, is it? All right. Keine’ll be a bit yet with the class; ought to be able to squeeze in a handy or two. No worries. Won’t compare or nothin’.”

From that day forth, Miss Mokou had maintained her vagina belonged to no man but her outstanding rapist.

Taiki, however, was yet very much within her domain. Or dominion, way that crumbled.

You could be mistaken studying her as she was now – schlicking on the floor yet paying obedient service to his dick with the spare hand – but then you would be mistaken. Miss Mokou did indulge in and enjoy tokens of submissiveness: the sporadic slap, the fawning blowjobs, the hair-pulling; but it would be a bold and inflammable man to assume she was ever not in charge of these instances. Miss Mokou was a legend. She was presently a legend fixated above all else on (not) screwing her lifelong friend’s protégé behind her back, but legends in Gensokyo had the knack of rocketing at you from the dark and biting you in the arse down pat. And then a right fool you looked at the dinner table.

Frankly, it pissed him off. Several weeks now he had sought to re-enact for Miss Mokou that (reportedly) amazing sex from her shed, and he’d always had to do it from a discreet, pleading position. The ship “It Was Me” had sailed the moment he’d run; and he still received a sharp, queasy turn in his gut when recalling the whole shebang. But he was a man. He might have been a man who required more than a gesture and a thought to get the blasted water heater going, unlike somebodies around, but a man he was. He had the voice and everything.

And men, books across the genres agreed, weren’t to be denied. They could be delayed, sure, but for each there was a breaking point.
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This was Taiki’s. If these had sounds, his would be the sound of Miss Mokou being grasped forcefully by the chin. It sounded something like this:

“Mmwhuh? Whuh naoww?”

Taiki’s reply was to jab a thumb between her lips and gently yet staunchly haul the pervert girl upright. The slight, womanly hand bolstering his dick slacked then refastened higher up his shaft as Miss Mokou’s coolly phlegmatic face came to level with his own. Well, except the phlegm wasn’t phlegm, and it weren’t hers to begin…

It was anyway another thing strumming his pulled nerves. Miss Mokou was near as damn it as tall as he. All right, he may have had her out-spaced in other directions, but none rankled as badly as the one making it a tiptoe-less effort for her to jam her tongue into his mouth at any time of the day. And she did look a girl keen on no less even now, twirling said tongue round Taiki’s thumb like a piece of stuck hard candy.

There was no ignoring the RSVP. Not completely. And so, weathering the smell, Taiki leaned in with all his preponderance to smooch the cleaner corner of Miss Mokou’s lips. The type of woman he dreamt of marrying, mentally pinned and catalogued, was jarred out by something germinating beneath when the one who wouldn’t ever marry him on her – or, sooner, his – life tipped backwards against the paper-heaped desk with an uncharacteristic squeal. The students’ brainy outpourings skidded under a hectic palm.

“… Gettin’ a little feisty?” rallied Miss Mokou. “Careful, womenfolk go head over heels for that.”

For a heartbeat, even if it was among those look-into-her-eyes-and-you’ll-skip-it kinds of heartbeats, Taiki’s machismo wobbled. Then, leasing the grit from his dick, he swivelled Miss Mokou’s chin to the side and spoke into her ear.

“… You will take off these pants, Miss Mokou.”

“… Told you, boy,” she mumbled around the thumb barring her lips, “that place is for—”

Taiki pressed her to the edge of the desktop. “You will take off these pants, Miss Mokou,” he repeated; “I expect you will, as then we’ll proceed to give that place what it wants, as deep it wants. No need for sticky fingers. Take them off and turn around; that is everything I’ll be polite about.”

“Was impressed upon a time I brought out the worst in you,” Miss Mokou quipped, “not the best.

“I’ll turn fantastically rude once the pants are off; this I can promise.”

She gave him an amazed, sidelong look. “… You’re doing it,” she said, and there wasn’t a touch of question to be marked in her voice. “You’re finally doing it.”

“I’ve done it before, Miss Mokou,” muttered Taiki, not in the mood to beat around any bush except hers. “Sorcery it wasn’t.”

“If you don’t quit soundin’ so disappointed, man, I shall give you such a smack on the balls. I meant re-growing a pair at last.”

Taiki examined Miss Mokou’s sideways face for signs of humour. It did have a smile affixed, albeit of the vertically squished variety, such as might be associated with, for example, a woman getting her ill-merited way.

“… That,” he noted academically, “presupposes I had one prior at some point.”

“You just admitted you had,” she noted back. “Can vouch, myself; I once put up with it slappin’ my thighs for nigh-on an hour all in the same position. Old girls like me get the cramps, you realise?”

Taiki stared. No, gawked. He suddenly felt a great, fat imbecile. This stood to reason, because he seemed to be it.

Miss Mokou made as though to let slip the straps of her pantaloons, unhanding the dick she’d been using for a handhold and tucking the fingers under one of the suspenders. Thereupon she caught sight of what was relatively nasty and relatively a bust inside her open shirt. There was a slight but palpable curdling of mood.

“Mnrghfs,” and by this, Miss Mokou had meant likely some vicious, ancient curse. “Right. How about I wipe off first? Could lie right down on me when you put it in then; let’s just me go grab a—”

“Wait.”

Taiki reined in her decamping hips.

Not for the first occurrence in their lopsidedly long-short relationship he recognised he hadn’t taken half the scholarly interest in women he should have when Miss Mokou did something she had never before and briefly nipped her bottom lip in inadvertent excitement. A gesture ten centuries her junior if he had his carbon dating kit tuned right. He held his chronological confusion at bay by pressing her (un-hag-like) body harder to the desk.

“Whoa, there,” chided Miss Mokou. “Ow?”

Taiki gave her no purchase. “Then back then, at your shed,” he urged, “you were awake? You knew it was me?”

There was a terse and definitely less than heartfelt snort. “Bears don’t wheeze like you do,” alleged Miss Mokou. “Was either you or a hitotsume-nyuudou with an arrow in his fauces. I hedged my bets till I could feel the cock. It was yours down to that hump near the back.”

Taiki filed this away under “I have what? Check later.” “… Then that talk of bones and sun and burnt skin,” he said aloud. “What was that? I thought for the life of me I’d done you wrong…”

And, in another universe-first, Miss Mokou failed to pounce on the bait, on account she was looking away and bordering on sheepish.

“… Force of habit?” she supposed.

“Miss Mokou, moral quandaries aside, I was most convinced I would sooner or later cross the Sanzu that day. Carbonised or strung u— or otherwise. I could have done with a hint.

Now she looked as if she’d bit a lemon or at least a canker. “… May be,” she argued back, “that I am… years old, man, but I’m a woman last I spot-checked. Women don’t do hints. Not less they’re at the end of the rope and, if my story’s tellin’, those fly over your collective sex’s head just the same. I thought you’d hunker down and put me in my place; I thought it’d be all wanton Heian wife with a spurned husband for me if I made like somebody else’d had a go at me. That was the hint. And a pretty fly it did.”

“You wanted me to get angry?”

“I wanted you to get angry and fuck me,” sighed Miss Mokou. “When you didn’t… guess is when I began wantin’ just the angry part. That all hang together to you, wise man?”

This new addition to the array of lenses mounted above Taiki’s comparatively microscopic past was given due consideration.

“… You are, Miss Mokou,” he at length professed, “if nothing else, a woman.”

And one with enough uncrusted grace to show him a smile. “You noticed, did you?”

“Not the easiest job, by reason even my tits are bigger than yours – ouch – but a woman you are, Miss Mokou. Quod est demon.

Miss Mokou punched through, as she did, to the other side of the coin. “You’re the one with a cock like an Oni’s.”

They relaxed. And held a gaze. Neither had quite gotten a handle on what the other had meant on the semi-literal level but that, nonetheless, would do. There was an understanding of closed doors opened, a bed made. The latter sufficed – for now. A figurative one went a ways when all you had otherwise was a woodworm-eaten desk.

Then Miss Mokou pushed Taiki off. He managed a vicious swipe on her rear as she swished by, but else let her to go on to carry out the battle-plan for before and pay a visit to the school’s bathroom ahead they got even downer and dirtier. The hole in the mood smarted; and there was Taiki, reckoning to himself he could do no worse than Miss Mokou with her clothes. He issued an “A-hem!” to embarrass “A-hem!”s uttered in wickeder circumstances than his.

“I hope you recall, Miss Mokou,” he said, “that I have you twice outweighed. Could be, just a suggestion, that you ought to go on top…?”

The ancient, immortal girl with the sex drive of four teens bedding together after a movie night paused at the staff room’s door to give him rather a grizzled eye-roll.

“I’ve been fell on by trees ten times your size, man. Still here. What is very well ought is that you pace yourself to start,” she began to retort; “I’ve died plenty since last time, so my wossname down there grew ba—”

The door smashed aside the wossname’s inauspicious minutiae, quite by itself or, to be quite less poetic about it, by the rain-drenched Miss Keine suddenly framed behind it.

The wedge of uncovered dress in the sternal area of the schoolmarm’s undersized coat was wet and, Taiki registered in the time-honoured, near-death-experience slow-motion, clung attractively to her skin. She streamed the rain all over the floorboards. Wet hen had never been more of a wordplay.

“I’m sorry!” Miss Keine lamented, squishing into the room. “I forgot the wedding contract altogether; I am such a…!”

Such a what she featured she was would forever, so to say, be lost to history. Miss Keine squeaked into a halt. A female friend you hadn’t forecast until way later in the evening schmoozing your male employee in your absence had to be around DEFCON II in the country of spick and span. Then Miss Keine looked from Miss Mokou’s dumbstruck expression to Miss Mokou’s bared, cum-struck chest, decided she was worldlier than she’d prefer let on, and looked again to Miss Mokou’s face, her own slowly blooming a hollow O of shock.

Taiki was put in an unaccountable mind of mushrooms and clouds.

“Oh. Um. Keine?” tried Miss Mokou. And then, because age wasn’t always pursued by wisdom, “Look, if on the off-chance you’d like to join in—”

Clawing hands grabbed Miss Mokou’s skull by the temples.

IN MY SCHOOL!

In years to come, Taiki would startle awake in the wee hours of the night and wonder why a dream of a nice scrambled eggs breakfast should fill him with stomach-twisting dread instead.

Miss Mokou’s body folded limply to the floor. The schoolmistress’s blood-spattered face snapped to her previously unimpeachable and, unfortunately at the moment, less than limp trainee. Tears were in them. They had to shove for space with murder.

“IN MY SCHOOL…!” she rumbled.

Taiki put up a wall of palms. Their defensive capability was negligible. “Er. This is… demonstrably what it seems, but…”

Miss Keine shook her damp head. The effect didn’t inspire confidence. “I understand…!” she whined. “You’re a young man! You have a drive! I understand that!” She bored her eyes into his. They weren’t right, somehow. Murder notwithstanding. “But here…! In my school…”

“Uh, Miss Keine—”

“IN MY SCHOOL!”

And then, as the hand of fate ticked over to DEFCON I, Taiki saw a flash.

It was the last thing he didn’t remember of the day.





The weekend flowed in quietly rather than being the sheer cut-off it usually was.

Taiki splashed his face from the washbasin at his billet’s door and kneaded his shoulders under the pyjamas. He stretched – and scuffed his knuckles on the walls. The billet was quite spacious, really; a human could just about fit on the bed, but he hadn’t rented it with exercise in mind. That’d been a later lifestyle extension and still squeaked when worn.

Miss Keine had said the previous evening there’d be no pressing need to come in for the weekly archival, so he’d slept in; of course, Miss Keine had been for unknown causes walking on eggshells around him, so it might be prudent to report in anyhow – but later. Today was a holiday. Wasting it was custom.

Miss Mokou had agreed. She’d even, with greater nonchalance than usual, submitted her place and a helping hand. He might have to help her out of hibernation, to hear her tell it, but that oughtn’t, to hear her tell also, prove too tall a hurdle for Taiki. He’d had thoughts on that she wouldn’t have liked.

“Well,” he murmured at the world at large and the room at small. It might just be, what women liked to call, a “conversation.”

There was a knock on the door, almost as though the world had listened in. Taiki didn’t gird his loins, mainly because they’d be no use anyway to whom knocked most often on his door, that being the landlady, who smelled of boiled lettuce and matched it in wrinklage. He thumped the door ajar, yawning.

“Yea—” he began, and then continued, “aaaa…?”

A broad-rimmed, straw hat dominated the morning outside. Hair the shade of lilacs extended from underneath almost to the dewy ground. A plain, no-nonsense kimono may have insinuated itself to be decently robust in the padding department, but was spoken over by a pair of elongated, fuzzy ears dangling from the hat’s dome like the feelers of a terrestrial jellyfish.

A youkai-rabbit. A youkai-rabbit from the clinic in the Forest of the Lost was at Taiki’s door.

“Erk,” he said, and didn’t even stutter. Miss Mokou’s poise was rubbing off.

A single eye the colour of blood moon measured him in all the axes except the Z through a rip in the hat’s brim.

“Have I the Taiki… sir?”

She’d had a cute voice if nothing else. The landlady would have had a carrot out by now.

“That’s,” Taiki carefully allowed, “what it says on the plate, yes.”

“Can’t read your human scribbles to save my tail,” said the youkai-rabbit. “Have I the Taiki or have I not him?”

“Miss Keine says there has not been a Taiki in the town records since Hieda Taiki, who eloped with a kitsune and returned two knots short of a plank. They buried the ‘the’ with him. I’m just a Taiki.”

“The Kamishirasawa.” The youkai-rabbit nodded to herself. “You’re the short-ear, then. The Eien-tei, House of Eternity, cordially extends its invitation. The princess has expressed the… appetite to meet you. The first things first, however; I must ascertain the something. May we go indoors? There is a bed, I see. And I’ll require some cloth to tie up my hair… oh, right, got the bra. Should do, that. Shall we, Taiki-soon-to-be-the, graced by the princess?”

And ten minutes later the landlady came by and promptly came away: surprised yet not wronged, oh no, that her studious, young tenant had at last found for himself not only a girlfriend, but a girlfriend of resounding competence. She spared a thought for her own salad days, when she would walk the valleys of Gensokyo in quest of those Tengu unafraid to have their merry way with a hapless human woman or to tempt thusly the Hakurei’s blunt wrath. They’d told her such carriage lent itself to naught but the grave, but where were they now? What were they? Right. Ha.

A girl with the most strikingly long and white hair passed her by on the rickety staircase. Had she such a tenant? Well, no matter. The nice Toorima boys had brought her the last of the year’s lettuce. There was peeling and washing and cooking to do.

Oh, adventure! It just didn’t happen anymore these days.

In her root cellar, she could not hear how mistaken she had been. She did, though, certainly feel it when the building exploded.
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Wait he lives in the scarlet devil mansion?
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Jealous (in a sense) Kaguya next?
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