Haru was three months old when Aiko finally came to collect.
Everyone in the village knew Aiko.
Fifty-one years old. Widow of the old shrine priest who died a decade ago. Keeper of Hanami's tiny Shinto shrine on the hill. Tall, elegant, with silver-streaked black hair she wore in a long braid down to her waist. Always in traditional clothing: white kosode and scarlet hakama that somehow made her look both holy and sinful.
She had the kind of body that made men (and women) forget how to speak.
Breasts so full and heavy they strained every obi she tied. A narrow waist that flared into wide, fertile hips. And an ass so perfectly rounded it looked sculpted by the gods themselves.
For years she had been untouchable.
Celibate. Devoted. Pure.
Until Kai moved in.
Aiko had watched him from the shrine steps every morning as he worked shirtless in the fields. Watched him carry Sayuri (belly swollen with his child) across the yard like she weighed nothing. Watched him kiss her under the persimmon tree like she was the only woman in existence.
And every night, alone in the priestess quarters, Aiko had touched herself to the thought of what that thick cock must feel like splitting her open.
Now, with Haru finally sleeping through the night and Sayuri glowing in new-mother happiness, Aiko decided the gods had waited long enough.
She arrived at the farmhouse on a crisp spring evening, carrying a lacquered box of sacred sweets and wearing nothing beneath her miko outfit but skin.
Sayuri answered the door, Haru on her hip, and took one look at Aiko's flushed cheeks and dilated pupils.
"Ah," Sayuri said, smiling knowingly. "It's your turn."
Aiko bowed, cheeks burning. "If… if Kai-san would have me."
Sayuri laughed softly and stepped aside. "He's in the bath. Go claim him, Aiko-san. He's been wondering how long you'd make him wait."
Kai was soaking in the wooden ofuro when the door slid open.
Aiko stepped in, closed it behind her, and without a word began to undress.
The white kosode fell.
The scarlet hakama pooled at her feet.
She was breathtaking: skin like porcelain, breasts heavy and pendulous with wide, dark areolas, nipples already stiff. A soft belly from years of shrine life and good food. And between her thighs: a perfectly smooth, glistening pussy that had clearly never been shaved for anyone but herself.
Until tonight.
"I have waited ten years," she said, voice trembling with need. "Ten years without a man's touch. I can't wait another minute."
Kai stood, water cascading down his muscled body, cock already rising thick and heavy at the sight of her.
Aiko's eyes locked on it and she actually whimpered.
He stepped out of the tub, cupped her face, and kissed her: slow, deep, reverent. She melted against him, hands roaming his chest, his back, finally wrapping around his cock with a desperate moan.
They didn't make it to the bedroom.
Kai lifted her onto the wide wooden counter beside the bath, spread her thighs, and devoured her.
Aiko came in under a minute: back arching, braid whipping against the wall, a broken cry echoing off the tiles as she flooded his mouth for the first time in a decade.
He didn't let her recover.
He stood, lined up, and pushed inside with one long, slow thrust.
Aiko's eyes rolled back. Her pussy was molten silk: impossibly tight, untouched for so long it gripped him like a fist. She sobbed his name, legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper.
Kai fucked her right there against the bath counter: deep, steady strokes that made her massive breasts bounce and slap against her chest. Every thrust nudged her cervix and drew another broken moan from her throat.
She came again on the twentieth stroke: hard, squirting so violently it splashed both their thighs.
Only then did he carry her to the bedroom.
They made love for hours.
Missionary first: slow and face-to-face so he could watch every expression as he filled her again and again.
Then doggy: her on all fours, braid wrapped around his fist, pounding her from behind while she screamed into the pillow.
Then she rode him: hips rolling like a woman possessed, shrine bells still tied in her hair chiming with every bounce.
When he finally came, it was with her on her back again, legs over his shoulders, his cock buried to the root as he pumped rope after thick rope straight into her womb.
Aiko clung to him, tears streaming down her temples.
"Thank you," she whispered over and over. "Thank you for making me feel alive again."
Kai kissed her softly.
"Stay the night," he murmured.
She did.
And in the morning, when Sayuri found them tangled together: Aiko's head on Kai's chest, his hand protectively on her belly: she just smiled, kissed them both, and whispered, "Welcome to the family, Aiko-san."
The shrine widow blushed crimson.
But she didn't leave.
She never really left again.
To be continued…