Nioh - Curse of the Shiri-Kodama

BY : salarta
Category: -Misc Video Games/RPGs > General
Dragon prints: 1534
Disclaimer: I do not own Nioh, its characters or any ideas or concepts contained herein. This story is a mere fan-made work, and I make no money or profit from its creation and dissemination.

Author's Note: I don't really relish leaving a note, but I feel I must. Most of the Japanese used here is from Google translate. If someone that knows better sees something wrong, drop it in reviews and I'll fix it.

Tags: Anal BMod Contro Fet Fist Humil MC Other (body control, language humil, brain drain, costume change)


Maria eyed Fuku with more than a mild hint of admiration. So smart, so cultured, so composed, the onmyo mage carried herself with the sort of regal posture one might expect from kings and queens - not from one who spent her days dabbling in mystic arts. Her attack stance? Perfect. One leg back, lips parted for a fierce shout, Fuku held her arm aloft with the sure discipline of a warrior as her weapon of choice glowed purple on the tip of an outstretched finger.

But what caught Maria most of all about the Asian beauty was her eyes. Through those cloudy grey pupils, tainted by the afterglow of her magic, Maria saw a woman who knew conviction in her native tongue. The mage glared where her foe once stood with enough quiet rage to send an average man quaking for cover. The wondrous downward crest of Fuku's dark eyebrows made a show of spoiling her usual calm. It seemed almost a shame that Maria would have to ruin this raven-haired wonder.


As her shadow selves caught up with her, Maria stopped behind Fuku. Even from behind, she recognized the panicked confusion of a woman who lost sight of her target. Fuku's gaze darted left, right, left, right, up, and incredulously down. Every time, those who faced Maria in battle failed to consider the most obvious place she might hide until many seconds too late.

Fuku dropped her arm and moved to turn. She wouldn't get the chance.

With all the swiftness of a Spanish ninja, Maria wrapped her arms around Fuku and groped her giant tits. Pawing, kneading, squeezing, she played with their full firm thickness while Fuku threw her head back and groaned. The mage's squirming only made Maria's grip tighter, holding on and riding her like a wild horse in sore need of taming.

"Nani yattenda!" Fuku cried.

"What does it feel like? I'm sampling the merchandise." To make a point, Maria really clamped down on one of the divine pair. Fuku shuddered like all who felt her playful touch. Then, like all her foes who loathed such affections, Fuku rolled her back until she stood upright and spun for a harsh slap.

Cue phase two. Entering shadow step, Maria unsheathed her sword and sliced across the top of Fuku's robes. One quick, clean cut went straight through patterned black leather and white undercloth, stopping short of pristine pale flesh. In her path below Fuku's raised arm, Maria left slits down the sides, severed the red cord about Fuku's waist, and left a mighty smack to her plaything's ass for good measure. Ending several strides behind, she watched with eager bated breath as Fuku clutched her stinging cheeks with a surprised yelp and turned to face her.

"Ah! Watashi no mazushī itamu shiri!"

"Has anyone ever said how lovely your language sounds?" Maria taunted. "Every word becomes poetry, and there's no better seasoning than shame."

Fuku's pained expression made it all the sweeter. Second by second, act by act, she could see the mage's composure breaking down. Weakness of spirit settled into once taut limbs. Fuku's formerly rigid, spine-stiff stance slumped with careless disregard for decades worth of training. Then, the sweetest sound of all emerged from that visage of fallen grace.

Riiiiiip. Confusion marred the mage's looks with a scrunched, squinting shift of her features. Pursed lips and a wrinkling nose espoused disgust. Somewhere deep in the recesses of Fuku's mind, she knew what she heard meant fresh humiliations inflicted on her by the Spanish gadfly. What she didn't know was how. She localized the sound. Below. Her body. Her torso. Her chest. She looked down in time to see strings stretch and snap, clothes sliding down into a worthless heap at her feet. Acting quick, she splayed an arm across her naked bosom and covered her womanhood with the other hand.

For the first time in many long years, she blushed.

"Red is a good color on you, mage," Maria said. "I may yet draw more of it out before we're through."

"Dōshite?! Watashi wa anata ni nani o shita koto ga arimasu ka!"

"It's not anything you have done. It's what a certain special someone wants done to you. Although I must admit, I'm having a lot of fun."

Fuku trembled as she turned aside, crossed her legs and dared to raise her hand. The mage's ragged breathing betrayed deep-seated fear. A soft, shallow glimmer in her cloudy pupils revealed a spirit beaten, broken and fearful of a woman she knew to be her better. The dull purple light of Fuku's magic itself showed lack of faith in her own prowess. Could she fight the mighty Maria? Could she even defend herself? Could she salvage her wounded pride and resist her rising urge to flee? Or, would the last of her will power fade and cause her to make a name for herself as a faithless coward throughout all of Japan?

As a connoisseur of cultures, Maria read these thoughts through the universal language of Fuku's body and smirked. She had the mage right where she wanted. Now to seal the deal.

Shadow-stepping, Maria blurred behind her foe. Crouching, she stared straight on into the perfect blow. Step one: ball her hand into a fist. Step two: rear her arm back and pour amrita into the attack. Step three: ram her fist right up the mage's ass with as much force as she could muster. The attack landed perfectly. As her knuckles pried the puckered hole open, Fuku's cheeks wantonly jiggled. Buried. Absolutely buried. Wrist-deep. Its tightness made itself known as Maria lifted higher, forcing the mage onto her tiptoes.

"Aiiiiiiiii!" Fuku cried, grimacing and closing her eyes as she winced. Her back arched. Letting the purple magic glow fade off her finger, she reached down and grasped her butt once more. "Sore wa son'nani itaidesu. Tomare!"

"I thought you were a proud onmyo mage? No matter. I'll be finished as soon as I... got it!"

Clutching her prize, Maria pulled out as quickly as she entered. Her foe collapsed before her like a puppet with cut strings - a fitting analogy, given what she now possessed. It glowed in her palm. Light slipped between her fingers. Eagerly, she rose to her feet and opened her hand to gaze upon a miracle move known only by the Kappa until this day.

"Oh, Fuku. Guess what I have. I'll give you a hint: it's small, bright, and I pulled it from the most obvious place you would expect to find it in an uptight priestess."

"Shite kudasai, jihi o hyōji shite kudasai," Fuku murmured weakly.

"Boring as it might be, I think the first thing I'll do is get rid of this annoying language barrier."

Knowledge trickled free from Fuku's addled mind, Japanese words and phrases lost in favor of a fresh English vocab. Not everything. She remembered certain chants, certain terms, enough to cast simple spells or pose simple questions. Explain simple needs. Get a rough idea of what other people meant with their words. Not enough to hold much in the way of conversation.

Despite the mental shift, Fuku still sought to use her former native tongue. Pieces of Japanese fluttered in and out. She couldn't string it together. The sentence wouldn't build. It took time for her to admit defeat, but when she did, she spoke without the perks that a normal first language might afford.

"Please. You must stop. Not even the yokai show such cruelty." Her high pitch raced through her speech at uniform pace, leaving behind a bored, breathy aftertaste. Letters chopped off words molded into the shape of cloying moans. Despite her newfound verbal prowess, it came with the accent of a Japanese woman who never quite learned how to handle its finer points.

Or, to put it another way: Fuku pronounced the only language she knew with the skill of a secondhand speaker forced to blunder her way through expected discourse.

To which a naughty smirk crossed Maria's rouge lips. "Atarashī gengo ni tsuite dono yō ni kanjimasu ka?"

"K... ki... kira... I hate it," Fuku confessed. "I should be able to speak to my own people."

"I'm afraid that's no longer an option. Feel free to try to re-learn your native tongue, but you'll soon find that to be a pointless effort. Lucky for you, I happen to be fluent in Spanish, English and yes, Japanese. You won't need to worry about whether or not I can understand you."

"Why have you changed me in this way?"

"Why? Because I can. Because I want to hear the self-loathing in your voice as you beg me not to change you further."

"The shiri-kodama-"

"Yes, I have your shiri-kodama. I think you know what that means."

Dejected, Fuku sighed in abject failure. "I'm yours to do with as you wish."

"Very good," Maria said, walking around the fallen woman to stand before her. "As our next order of business, we'll test that body to see what it can do."

With a tap tap tap of the shiri-kodama, Fuku rose from the ground. It came in stages. She started limp. Knees bowed. Legs parted. Arms and head hanging. Torso pitched forward. In every sense, she played the part of a restrung puppet. Then, one by one, the myriad parts of her body went stiff. Legs tucked in. Feet slid closer. Knees buckled into place. She stood up. Looked ahead. Raised her arms. Soon, even Fuku's quivering lips and eyes shifted back into a cheap placid copy of her former zen calm. Under her ninja mistress, the marionette mage found her footing.

All was ready. Every fiber of Fuku's being wanted to scream in defiance as her hands settled behind her head. Her fingers weaved together, an intricate lacing of digits meant to reinforce what came next. Nice and stable, she stretched her elbows out as far as they could go.

Then, she shook her tits.

She started slow, barely swaying the two hefty globes. Swaying moved to a light shimmy, then swinging, then thrashing, until she flailed her pair around like the meteor hammers of Chinese lore. Their damnable weight dredged up the first of many English phrases Fuku would come to know by heart: look, don't touch. Left, right, left, right, their motion blur served as ample warning for any who might be dumb enough to try sticking any part of themselves in their path.

Of course, their value didn't stop at how swiftly Fuku could knock a grown man off his feet. The wild abandon with which Fuku let her naked boobs flounce about in open air made for a hypnotic sight. Her dark twin peaks rose and fell like wobbling mountains on her chest. In time, traces of violet onmyo magic leaked free, swiffing streaks that lingered long enough to show their fine cadence.

Yet for all the allure of her bust, what truly sold the lovely vision was Fuku's face. Even as she carried out this most perverse command, she kept her head fixed, her gaze forward, her lips still and straight. Her eyes burned with a holy woman's resolve. Confidence stretched in every taut muscle, folded in the crinkling of her brows, jetted from her nose with every raging hot breath. She was a mage on a mission, ready to lay down her life in the line of divine duty. Her constant straining to pour her best into the next mighty heave-ho proved the depths of her commitment to her one true calling.

... A true calling that meant every ounce of effort - every ounce - went toward turning herself into a sexed up mockery for Maria's pleasure.

That's how it looked from without, at least. Within, Fuku seethed and trembled in shame. Every pass of her tits meant another chunk of pride chipped off her massive chest. Her massive burden bore down on her back and shoulders as if to punish her for daring to resist her mistress. She wanted to take a break and slump. She ached! Yet she kept going.

"Hup! Hup! Hup! Hup! Hup! Hup! Hup! Hup!" She shouted with gusto whenever her nipples reached crescendo. Between those sounds and her determined glare, she gave off the wonderfully absurd aura of a woman mastering her jutsu. A samurai devoted himself to the way of the sword. Ninja discovered when and how to use their many stealth tools. For Fuku, it was all about the heft, bounce and jiggle of those luscious curves. Her countenance said everything: no matter how many hours of training it took, she would learn how to wield her melons to maximum effect.

Her looks and actions said this, as Maria played with Fuku's little anus ball of a soul. "Those are some very fine breasts, Fuku."

"Thank you!" Fuku vocal cords volunteered, with an inhuman glee coaxed out by Maria's ministrations. "I aim to perfect my technique. Everyone who sees me deserves a proper show of my body."

"Oh really?" Maria teased. Her words suggested something more. Much more. After a few more cycles of Fuku's so-called training, she followed through. "If presentation is your main concern, we'll need to do something about your wardrobe."

Under Maria's power, Fuku finally calmed her tits - best as she could given their momentum. Trying for a dead stop nearly sent her spinning like a wild top to the ground. Balancing on her left foot tiptoes, she wagged her elbows just enough to shift and swing her pair the other way. From there she had a slower, safer descent, until they settled in place.

And so the Spanish ninja set about reimagining Fuku. Approaching the onmyo mage, Maria squatted into the dregs of Fuku's old robes and sifted. Delicate fingers found the prize she sought: a set of paper talismans. Ofuda, the onmyoji called them. They blessed or cursed humans and yokai as needed so long as a mage imbued them with power. This set bore no such power, but Maria had another purpose in mind. Sticking Fuku's shiri-kodama down her blouse for safe keeping, she held an ofuda in each hand and pressed their top edges length-wise against Fuku's nipples.

"Seal," Maria simply said.


With a mighty bellow, and that very same committed scowl Maria loved so well, Fuku poured all her onmyo prowess in the act. Her teats glowed with obscene brightness as a spell bonded the paper to their horny tips. Upon release, the slips hung free and held firm. Even a sharp southern wind failed to dislodge them, her twin ofuda flapping merrily while the cool breeze prickled her poor exposed bust. For the first time in all of history, a rare female onmyo mage eagerly sullied the tools of her holy trade on temple grounds. Or so it might look to any who saw her.

For some, that touch alone would prove embarrassment enough. Some. Not Maria. She knew precisely how this fight would end well before she ascended the shrine's stairs and set foot past its torii. She came prepared.

She could have reached up and removed Fuku's prized accessories in the blink of an eye. She didn't. She wanted to savor the moment. She wanted Fuku to feel it as she took hold of that red and blue prayer bead necklace, drew the holy woman in, planted a hot wet kiss on her lips and ripped the necklace off. She wanted to show how thoroughly she owned the priestess, how she wielded power enough to make the holiest of devotees accept her twisted affections.

Not love. Not lust. Not passion. Power. Within their forced embrace and parting, Maria tasted piety, compassion, resolve, all the traits that made her breaking so delicious. All withering on her tongue. Composing Fuku, Maria continued her game. "Your days of prayer have passed, mage. I have a more fitting gift for you to wear."

"What kind of gift?" Fuku whimpered.

"Shhhh." Dipping a hand into her blouse, she fished out the 'generous gift' and made short work of tying it around the back of Fuku's neck.

Next went the earrings. Clasping them as gently as a lover, Maria wriggled the futaku bells from Fuku's lobes and threw them to some forgotten corner. In exchange, Maria clipped in what amounted to a strip of paper for each ear. Fuku might have known what they were if Maria permitted her to take a look. She did not. Instead, the Spaniard stepped back and observed from afar with an appreciative nod.

"Yes, that should do nicely." Before Fuku could ask the obvious question, Maria answered. "Around your neck is a very special omamori charm, straight from Kanayama Shrine. Once I explained the need, the shrine's priests had little trouble embroidering the omamori with the biggest, juiciest manhood they could imagine. Suffice to say, your sexual fortunes will soon improve greatly."

"... What about my earrings?"

"Omikuji, I believe they're called? I took the liberty of picking out a pair to greatly curse you with inauspicious directions. I couldn't have your newfound luck with men lead you to great fame and fortune, could I?"

At that news, Fuku's heart sank. Without the jingle of her futaku to guide her, she had no means of discerning whether the winds setting her nipple ofuda aflutter meant salvation or further falls from grace. Her new omikuji nearly ensured most changes in the wind meant ill will toward her. The loss of her sole way of picking out the rare good within the bad wrested away still more control over her life.

Yet, impossibly, Maria was not done.

For this next phase of dress-up, the Spaniard pulled a simple strip of cloth from her corset belt. Slipping it between Fuku's quaking thighs, she tugged high and hard, see-sawing until it dug deep between her captive's tender loins. She paused long enough to glance upon Fuku's face and savor cracks of arousal within feigned defiance. Flushed cheeks, curling lip corners, the mage surely warred within herself to resist. Continuing on, she took the back end and wrapped it around Fuku's waist, returning to the small of her back and looping to make a nice tight twist of the fabric. That only left the front half. Rather than waste her time on forming a neat package, Maria let that portion drape forward to rest at Fuku's knees.

Another task complete. Like Fuku's ofuda, this new underwear served her body well. It concealed a mess of dark pubes while exposing her bare ass to eyes and elements. Anywhere else in the world, the shame stopped at a show of skin. This was special. Among those of Fuku's faith, the wearing of a fundoshi in public marked important occasions. For men. Only men. Sure, no rules denied women the right to dress as they wished, but for Fuku to refuse the expected koshimaki wrap-around skirt and so brazenly don what no proper lady would...

It was an insult. A beautiful, suggestive insult. An insult guaranteed to mark her from afar as a vulgar woman lacking any semblance of the class or grace she spent many years perfecting. And though Maria enjoyed the sight, she had one more piece to change in Fuku's ensemble. "About this hat. It's a tate-eboshi, yes?"

"Yes, mistress!"

"I may be new to Japanese culture, but from what I gather, it belongs on the heads of wise and pious priests - not perverted, blundering fools. No, as a representative of Spain, it is my utmost duty to respect Japanese customs. If that means confiscating this hat and providing one that suits you, so be it."

Swiftly, Fuku's tate-eboshi followed the fate of her futaku before it. Maria's forming of a portal and disappearing within its glowing lines left Fuku standing there. Alone. Quiet. Cold. She shivered in the night, eyes darting around. A true warrior might have feared wild beasts. Fuku had other fears. What if Tenkai found his disciple so tastelessly posed? What if Lord Ieyasu arrived in search of guidance, only to witness her sudden turn toward profaning everything she once believed? What if... what if...

A fresh breeze mocked her dread with the sound of paper and cloth whipping about. 'This is who you are now', it seemed to say - a crass harlot meant to walk a path of self-ruin, a sexual de-wakening of body and mind. Silence in her captor's absence brought her surest sign of defeat. Nothing would come to save her. She would serve the whims of her body in whatever manner Maria chose.

As such, when Maria returned, Fuku didn't curse the Spaniard's wide grin, or how the moonless dark hid Maria's pale skin as keenly as what she held. She settled for accepting what would come as Maria passed under hanging lamp light. Fire revealed her fate.

A paper hat. Round, white, tall and pointed, it set nicely with the aid of Fuku's black motodori topknot bun. Its cone shape fit as snugly as her former tate-eboshi. With another loud grunt and outpouring of purple magic at its edges, she assured it bore no risk of toppling off. So attired, she waited in confusion for her mistress to explain its purpose.

Sadly for the mage, this answer would not come out freely. "Fuku, what do you think that hat means?"

Thinking quickly on Maria's recent remarks, she answered, "It marks me as a f-"

Suddenly, the word caught in her throat. It refused to budge. Then, it changed. Its travel upward, over her tongue, past her lips brought forth something different. "-fast and easy lay. Its tip means I'm always horny."

"Close, but not quite. It's a dunce cap. It has no value in Japan yet, but in Europe, only the dumbest of people wear it. I'm pleased to see it's a perfect fit for your empty head." That much shame would have been enough for most. Not Maria. She leaned in, whispering for the simple thrill of pretending to share a deep secret with the mage. "Not that it began as such. Like you, its creator was a man of high learning. Centuries later, his sole claim to fame is this hat. Imagine an entire life's work wiped out by a twisted idea of him through what he wore. Can you imagine?"

She could. Thoughts flitted through her mind of insults, mockery, people pointing at her absurd hat and laughing as she professed herself to be some wise mage in need of assistance. She saw in her mind's eye how she might look, a mostly naked holy woman who somehow - somehow - failed to resist evil spirits as they forced her out in public with this ridiculous attire.

Maria was right. Only a fool would expect anyone to take her claims seriously. Only a fool would think the sort of person willing to fist her ass on request would do it for some mythological soul buried in its depths. A woman's soul. In her ass. What a truly absurd notion.

A notion Maria was ready to bring full circle.

Pacing away, the Spaniard removed the shiri-kodama from her cleavage and commanded Fuku to stand akimbo. At last, the unholy raiments were complete - and yet Maria found the palette lacking. The puppet needed more. Details. Something to fill out those vast stretches of untouched skin. For now, she stroked the shiri-kodama and spoke.

"From this day forward, this is what you wear. No matter what season or surroundings you find yourself in, you will never cover your body. If anyone asks, your deep desire to arouse and offend people with your lewd body trumps all other needs."

"Yes, mistress."

"Good. Next. You are no longer a practicing onmyo mage. You attempted to learn for years but found even the most basic concepts beyond your grasp. One day, you realized your body and mind were only good for sex. Having discovered this truth, you abandoned the ways of onmyodo to follow your true calling as a lowly prostitute."

"But mistress," Fuku practically begged, "I possess enough beauty and charm to rival the prettiest geisha. I could command a hefty sum. I do not need to-"

"No," Maria insisted. "You will be cheap. You will be crude. You will make yourself available to any man or woman that wants you, no matter how little money they offer. Your story is that of a fallen onmyo mage who realized her faith mattered less to her than the joy she gets from showing off her body and spreading her legs. You must act the part. That includes using what remains of your onmyo prowess to enhance your appeal."

Fuku seemed to dutifully note this, as her eyes flickered for a second time. The order wormed its way through her spirit, all thanks to the little soul ball in Maria's hands.

"I see you understand. We can proceed. For your third and final act, I want you to sear into your brain that what I'm about to do to the canvas that is your body defines you. Let it be a road map to your future as a prostitute."

Once again, the fallen mage barked acceptance.

It was done. Shadow-stepping one last time, Maria appeared behind Fuku, crouched, and fisted the newly minted whore's hole. She earned a wince and minor pained grunt for the effort - more to do with Fuku's puppet state than how it felt. Releasing the shiri-kodama and removing her hand, Maria watched a gasping Fuku collapse forward with her arse in the air. In her mind's eyes, she already saw the beautiful calligraphy planned for those pasty cheeks. Eagerly, she removed a pin from her cape and scanned for the perfect place to start.


September, 1613. Six months since the day of her defeat to Maria. It sometimes boggled Fuku's mind to think of how much her life had changed in that short span of time.

Back when this ordeal started, she assumed the rest of her body would curry the most interest. She was wrong. If she could keep a running tally, she knew the marks for use of her mouth would fill her face as fully as all those fragrant cumshots baking on her skin.

She knew why. Every time she spoke.

"Low rates! Play with my huge boobs! Fuck my loose ass! If you use my hot pussy once, you'll never want again!"

They hated her voice. Everything came out with the cool collected confidence of a woman that took great joy in repulsing ladies and teasing cocks. In English. It didn't matter that she said it poorly, rambling on with the most bland sleep-inducing monotone she could muster. Though it didn't help. After many months of marketing her wares for low bidders, she had the air of one who refused to acknowledge her native language.

She also had the air of one who never scrubbed her hairy pits or wiped between her legs. What she would give to take a nice hot spring bath to wash the stink off. Standing street-side, she reeked of spunk and sweat - both hers and from the many pairs of balls she expertly cleaned with her tongue. Time had not been kind, and neither had her collection of shiri-kodama curses, which kept her cunt dripping wet like the cum oozing down her chest.

"Orokana baishunpu wa modoru," Fuku overheard. Just as they hated her English, she hated how their insults gave her a messy twinge of pleasure. She didn't like putting herself on display. She didn't like the disgusting spectacle she had become. Her body did. That made all the difference.

And what a body Maria had left her with. Fortunately for Fuku, her brain drain of kanji saved her the pain of fully 'appreciating' her parting gift tattoos. Across her voluptuous chest read 呆福. Or to put it in words she could understand if anyone bothered to tell her: fool's fortune. Her exposed hips bore the slightly longer 呆人有呆福, or fools have fortune. That both tattoos contained her name might have meant something if she still remembered how to spell her own name.

But of course, the worst of the lot spread across her thick wide ass. Her seductive butt wagging stretched the lines of those characters, one to each cheek. Without the comfort of cover, everyone saw her bold claim for the tight window into her shiri-kodama. It advertised lust, ease of access, an uncommon eagerness to have her soul coated with fresh hot loads. It also served as her brand new full name. The roughly translated phrase - 福見, to see good fortune - already had naughty implications in its original vernacular.

It took on new meaning for one accustomed to Fuku's new proficiency for English. Though spared the same reading as her countrymen, she might have preferred to hear it as they did rather than deal with the pangs of private shame she felt every time she heard it spoken aloud.

A sensation forced on her anew as she let loose with another attempt to entice would-be buyers. "If you're looking for a good time, all you need to do is Fukumi."

Too vividly for comfort, she imagined one of Sir Anjin's cruder fellow sailors responding with a hearty 'I'll fuku you!' In some respects, she wished such a man would come. At least then she might be able to carry a conversation with something other than satin sheets. At least then her Maria-scripted double entendres might have more than an audience of one. Among her people, she earned only dirty looks, lusting grins and mocking chuckles.

Which left her falling back on that one true language all busty whores the world over could rely on to tease out a quick buck: her tits.

She sometimes hated how much she loved the sound of her twin ofuda flapping in the wind. They had such a soothing slickness to go with their gentle drag on her trapped nipples. Of all the changes wrought on her by Maria, this one brought the most joy to make up for her shame. They calmed. They pleased. More than once, she looked in the mirror to prepare for a full day of whoring and just plain forgot they weren't a normal part of her breasts. They had long since become true extensions of her self, no different than the teats they hid.

But those were idle thoughts. She had a job to do. Spotting a mark about to pass, she stepped up and hoisted her lewd beauties into view. "What do you think? Would you like to play with them?"

"Aho, ottoite-kure-yo!"

Undeterred by the man slapping her tits out of his face, she shouted after him. "You will regret not accepting my offer! I have the softest pair in Japan!"

"Anata jishin no fakku," was all Fuku heard as the man walked off. She stamped her foot in dismay. To have to put on her suggestive shows and urge men to use her grated on her nerves enough. To be denied like any other lowly prostitute made her feel... feel...

"Oooooh." Her legs gave out. Another orgasm. Right then. Right there. It dropped her to her haunches and forced her knees open, while the front drape of her fundoshi fluttered and fell to a rest against the ground. She shifted the cloth aside.

Already, her sensitive folds sopped with untold desire. Dancing her fingers across the crab tattoo just above her waist, she spread her lower lips and cooed. "Please. I need a man. You can have me for free!"

Unbelievable though it might seem, as she peered up and down the street, she found... no takers. Nobody. Perhaps, she reasoned, none of them grasped her generous offer. It assuaged her ego better than the alternative. Regardless, she found the fence against her back a suitable support for her sudden needs. Her bountiful bosom rose and feel with hot ragged breaths as she bit her lower lip. No going back now. Her thumb entered her aching slit.

"Fuku Mi!"

And popped right back out the second she heard her name. She groaned in agonized defeat. She only requested release. Why could she not get that much?! Fixing herself, she stood at attention with palms to hips, elbows out for the mystery woman who called her name. Wandering hands left a pleasant wriggle up her spine as they felt her up. Especially her thighs. In her agitated stated, Fuku gushed to a brush against her quim.

"Hmm. Yes. Easy indeed."

Was that. Could it be. English?! That alone got Fuku hot and bothered. Nevermind the sensations aroused by getting pawed like a piece of fine meat. That path of touch served as clues to her admirer's gaze. The dark bands on her arm. The equally grotesque 犬 dog mark on her forehead. Both tattoos proclaimed for the woman that this slutty fool had a criminal record. Yes, a false record assigned to her by Maria, but one that all who met her took as a truth worth punishing with the most vigorous and depraved fucking they could give her. Fresh sweat beading down her body in the midday sun, she awaited a final verdict.

She got it, when the woman lifted her arm and brushed back wild armpit hair to find Fuku's hidden message. A hum of approval from the would-be client brought a sigh of relief from the onmyo slut, dropping at least one heavy burden off her chest.

"I see you possess the kishobori," the woman noted. Fuku's scrunched confusion elicited an amused chuckle, and clarification. "Ah yes, I forgot what Lady Maria did to your frail mind. I meant the vow tattoo with my name."

Fuku froze and looked at her, stunned. The day had finally come. The promise, fulfilled. As her titty ofuda flapped, she stammered, "Y-You're-"

"That's right. I'm Okuni, and I'm putting together a troupe that could use a fool."

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