Oh, I'm sure you'all already knew this...
Ran ~ Norse (Scandinavian) goddess of storms. She ruled the realm of the dead and was wife of Aegir. She was vicious and destructive. She symbolizes the element of water.
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NC-17. Shota. Samurai. You have been warned.
They found the boy on their midnight watch, nearly trampled to death by startled horses. He was a scrawny thing, long legs scraped on tree roots, silk robes muddied and torn. The captain himself tried to question him -- there were lesser clans who would not think twice of sending a boy to spy on the garrison -- but the young man was mute and frightened, so they troubled him no more. Sympathetic, the captain bade them leave a bowl of rice and a cup of milk for him. The child did not sleep.
At dawn the field commanders returned from their parley. They were presented with the boy, and the light of day revealed what the torchglow had hidden.
Moon-pale skin, unblemished but for the recent bruises; grace of movement gained through noble upbringing; soiled robes hiding rare patterns unknown to lesser clans. His large eyes were dark of hue, like the feathertips of a crane. Their orbs darted from man to man.
"He must have come from the south..."
"Small, but he must be older, don't you think?"
"Kuroda-san, the boy must be a Toyotomi--"
"Speak not that name, Sagora-san." Kuroda grimaced at his lieutenant. These were uncertain times, and to throw in one's lot with the wrong clan could cost one's reputation and life. The massacre of the remaining Toyotomi had been years ago now, but it remained fresh in the minds of many.
Kuroda considered the boy. He still refused to speak. The commander saw how the boy watched and listened. If he was of the ill-fated Toyotomi, then his discovery was certain death. On the other hand, he was canny enough to be a spy. Kuroda decided that he would stay in the garrison and keep it clean. Just in case, the boy was barred from the kitchen.
After a brutal campaign to the west, Kuroda returned to the garrison. He was weary from the long journey, and went straight to his quarters. The boy was folding blankets there, his fingers calloused yet slender. He had gained some weight, and some muscle. "Kuroda-san," he said tersely. The commander was pleased by his voice, and sent him to his house to learn music. However, his brother was concerned that the boy's lineage would be discovered. So they disguised him as a girl. They purchased silks from the uncouth merchants, and taught him to move and speak correctly. The boy did not seem to begrudge this training, though he wanted for instruction in warcraft. Kuroda noticed this desire, quite natural for his age, and said nothing other than naming him Yoshiko.
There came the time for Kuroda to attend to matters in court. He would be gone for several months. Yoshiko accompanied him as the commander was fitted for ceremonial robes, in the fashion of the capital. Kuroda noticed his interest as the boy folded his clothes, but said nothing.
That night, Kuroda bade the boy enter his chambers to play and sing. The commander marveled silently at their foundling -- lean and stringy, yet the moon-pale skin needed no powder, the light smoke scent in his hair needed no perfume. Though it was beginning to deepen, the high voice sang of the crane's departure and the wave's crash as sweetly as any geisha. His kimono was fastidiously kept, shaping his body like a virgin girl's. Kuroda finished his jar of sake. "Yoshiko," he said.
The boy stopped singing, his quick fingers resting on the koto strings. "That is not my name, Kuroda-san."
The commander placed his hand on the boy's lap. It was warm and the fabric was smooth.
"You will answer to it."
Yoshiko closed his eyes as Kuroda slipped under the kimono layers, feeling the hairless thighs. Yoshiko's painted lips parted. "Kuroda-san. Teach me the bo."
Kuroda hesitated. It would be difficult to conceal... but it was a weapon which could be made from anything from a tree branch to a fence post, so its use would not entail a gift from the armory. An intelligent boy, indeed.
Who felt very much like a girl... "On your hands and knees, Yoshiko."
There was a flash of annoyance at Kuroda's non-answer, but Yoshiko complied. Kuroda heard the in-drawn breath when he caressed his rump, saw the dark eyes flutter shut as he traced the insides of his thighs.
That sweet voice cried out when he cupped his sack -- ah, what fine manhood, heavy and proud. The boy sounded as though he'd never touched himself. Kuroda rubbed behind that pleasing flesh, growling when Yoshiko spread his legs even more. Silk whispered over the soft, warm skin.
"Teach me, Kuroda-san," he gasped, "or I will be silent tonight."
Kuroda raised a brow, and clasped the generous erection in his hand. True to his word, Yoshiko did not even whimper. "You will be a woman for me... and I will teach you to be a man."
Yoshiko nodded, overcome, his hips rubbing against Kuroda's hand. He allowed him to continue, watching the fabric swinging in the lamplight, this boy from one of the greatest clans under heaven humping his hand like an animal.
Cool wetness touched his hand and Kuroda bade him pause. The boy panted, letting the commander slide his kimono up to expose his pale ass.
"The bargain, Yoshiko. Be not silent."
He did not move. "Your pardon, lord. I do not know what to do. You have the honor of claiming my flower."
Kuroda laughed, twisting a little so that Yoshiko would groan. "You have no petals, boy. But I will claim your fruit." A little oil on his fingers, and he pushed his fingers inside, earning a gasping scream. For long minutes Kuroda touched him thus, liking the way Yoshiko felt like a woman, yet sounded so masculine in his unbridled passion.
He allowed Yoshiko to climax; this brought no pause to Kuroda's ministrations. He continued to touch the boy until he was ready again. Then the commander knelt behind him, his manhood resting upon skin reddened by friction. The boy struggled now, his dark eyes looking back in panic.
"Do not trouble yourself, Yoshiko." Kuroda pushed his face to the ground. "There, touch your breasts. They need attention."
Yoshiko thumbed and squeezed his nipples, his cries high-pitched and wanting. Kuroda was growing impatient as well. He gave no warning when he gripped Yoshiko's hips and thrust inside.
"My lord...my lord, I cannot..."
"No woman says she cannot."
"I am not a woman!"
"Your kimono hangs from your breast like a bent reed." Kuroda rolled his hips, grunting at the tight heat of the boy's body. "Yoshi, you will spill again tonight, and it will be pale as the moon."
Yoshiko at last found his breath, and Kuroda moved easily for it. To plunge into those pale, beautiful thighs, to hear him beg for more, to kiss the long dark hair and bruise that sensitive skin...
At last the fire was quenched. Kuroda poured into him, saying "Yoshi" over and over. Yoshiko shuddered, dripping salt whiteness on the dark wood floor.
"Lick it clean, servant girl."
Yoshiko bent down and lapped up the milky drops. He had cleaned the floor himself, and did not show any dismay. Kuroda watched him as he stood, his neck elegant as a lady's, his hands smoothing his kimono.
The commander bowed to the boy. "We shall begin lessons when I return from the capital."
Night-black eyes gazed up demurely, like the shadow of a hand over a candleflame.
"I look forward to it, my lord master."
Click on today's Wandering Samurai! BIG news on CN Saturday Night, and the toon move from FOX to ABC.... whoa baby whoa baby we got *toons* we got *anime* holy shit!
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~60K of graphics :: Koani by
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