The Kijo of Red Alley

Wending through the crimson-hazed alley did eventually bring them to an end: a plain back entrance to some establishment, or maybe storeroom—from all the rest, it was a wonder how the courtesan told it apart—but little mind to Swiftwater as he was beckoned in.

The den was dark and cool with each creaky floorboard releasing the the smell of old wood. Mellower than the red ones outside, pearly white lanterns flickered calmly, revealing that a whore’s hovel this was not. The courtesan brushed aside fine tapestries strewn from the rafters, and with a few sweeps of her horn she lit mayhap a hundred candles, all arrayed neatly around the room. A nigh-dozen locks and bolts clicked the door secure, and without windows nor another visible exit, there would be total privacy in this strange sealed haven.

Citing her dignity, the courtesan refused to speak a list of her services; rather, she asked the colt what he wanted. His reply was painfully vague, only stammers. Still she smiled knowingly at it, pouring a pint of spirit back into the crushed colt—ere she whisked it away by stating her price. It was like two week’s stay in the city's embassy suite, or mayhap passage on a top-class airship. Swiftwater grimaced whilst he all-but-emptied his coinpurse of its heft; it was good that his belly was already full.

“Miss, pardon... I’m sorry for not being more specific earlier,” offered the colt, sensing the lady’s mood. In return she merely kept her back to him whilst shouldering off the breast of her yukata. The warm lamplight caressed her graceful neck—much like her face, freckles dotted her withers. She untied the obi from her waist and tossed it to the bed where it joined a dozen lush pillows.

“Be quiet and come. Wash your hooves of their mare-virginity.”

Swiftwater’s heart spiked. She must have been clairvoyant. Even after the foreigner’s years in Keikaji, he’d never so much as touched a kirin, making the idea ever tantalizing as the days grew. He swallowed a lump and reached out, weakly, to her scaled back...and fulfilled his dream. The surface was paradoxical in its design: thick scales squished as skin would neath his hoof, and whilst they were smooth and cool there was a warmth that glowed from below. It tingled; he was actually getting to feel them—but the wonder was snatched away as it jerked out from under his hoof.

“There. Now when anyone asks, you touched me first.”

She turned to him with a grin—a portent of her sudden lunge, grabbing his neck and pulling him in. Too suddenly their lips touched. She was so soft. Her breath smelt thick and earthy and drenched in smoke. A hot, wet thing made Swiftwater’s heart leap; already, her tongue came to taste his lips and teeth. It should have been disgusting...but the opening of his jaw claimed otherwise.

The lady yanked away from him again. “Pace, boy. You’re to savor me. In sips, like you do with your pricey western liquor. Now—clothing off.”

Swiftwater sucked his tongue back in, swallowing both their spit. He could only stupidly nod. His shaking hooves struggled with the buttons on his westerner’s coat. None of this felt real! He wasn’t even an adult yet and this was the most adult thing in the whole world. It was wrong to be naked outside of his bedroom. It was wrong, even as he stood naked before this mare, his sex painfully slapping his belly again...he didn’t even know her name.

“W-What do I start with...miss...?”

She clicked, “You paid for my throat first, idiot boy. The performance only moves in one direction.”

“Y-Yes, madame...”

“Stop moving. Just stand up.”

“Aye...”

With discomfiting speed the courtesan slipped under the colt’s barrel, head canted aside so not to gut him with her horn, and laid a kiss upon his tip which shot a shiver up his spine; another shiver hit as her lips overtook him. The selfsame cloudy softness he felt against his muzzle was leagues better down there. She was all lip and tongue, no teeth. Practiced. Professional. His hooves could never, ever, ever compare again. Was it always like this for adults? Was this how it was to be one? Could he ever feel like one?

Strangled groans feathered up from his throat for already he felt familiar pressure in this nethers. The deeper he sank in the maw, the warmer it felt—nay, hot; ‘twas no myth that kirin had cores of flame. The working muzzle huffed and puffed against his sensitive underbelly, breathing what could’ve well been steam, for how it sweltered. It made Swift suck his belly in, made him quicken his fevered thrusts—had to grab the whore’s mane, pull her in, forcing himself deep down the slick, gagging throat-hole that dribbled and shuddered like a steampipe. Too much—her heat, sucking, gods, too much! Gods!

He lost it all, let himself go, sloppily thrusting and whimpering and shutting his eyes tight, tears streaming down his cheeks. He sounded like a foal to himself with his pathetic mewling. From her the only sounds were the loud gulps that vanished the seed as soon as it spilt into her. His heart pounded so hard he worried if it could explode. He slumped forward, trembling, panting and coughing on his spit. The whore, her scales, felt so warm. As did his belly. He was in love. This is what it felt like, love, wasn’t it?

Swiftwater’s support slid out from under him with a satisfied slurp, reclining on the bed and leaving the spent colt to stumble on brittle limbs. She hummed, “You barely filled out my throat, but you did. I ought to make you my new minimum size limit.”

“Aah...ha...y-yes, thank you.” Minimum limit. How pathetic.

“Thank you?” she repeated, grimacing. “Don’t you thank me, boy. As if I’m working at a food stand... You foreigners are always too polite or not at all.”

“Yes, r-right, thank—ah! It’s just, I-I can’t believe I really...with you. It felt so good, like...”

“Like Heaven? Save it. You’re filling my rafters with words I hear every time, and they mean even less from a virgin.”

If Swift’s parents could see him now, he knew, they’d be so ashamed: their proud young stallion only muttering “sorry” ‘fore collapsing on the bed. Plus losing his virtue not to a pretty pegasus mare, but a filthy whore. No, she isn’t! he protested. She’s a beautiful mare who deserves respect! And maybe, just maybe, I’m in love with her!

But he couldn’t tell them about her. He’d never be let outside again so long as he lived...

“Well?” she startled him. “You didn’t pay for a mere kiss and a throat. Were you inclined to quit me with half your coin gone to charity?”

He shook his head. “No, madame! I just need...a moment to recover.”

“After that little squirt?”

“Y-Yes...”

“Pathetic. Drink this.” She found a hoof-sized gourd of liquid from the bedside drawer. “All of it. Yes, you paid for it. No, it isn’t booze.”

After how she’d made him feel, he’d do about anything for her without question. Even her bitter put-downs made his heart wrench in a wonderful way. He really could fall no lower, he chagrined, as he uncorked the bottle. A sniff revealed it to be gag-worthy. What liquid then passed his lips tasted stale and sweet, but quickly gave way to foul fire that burnt his throat and nose. After desperately gulping, he coughed and groaned, “W-What was that?”

“Booze,” she smiled. “With a little pick-me-up from the apothecary.”

Swiftwater stammered and looked down at his belly which suddenly boiled with warmth. Warmth turned to tingling, and tingling eerily spread through his extremities. His bones felt sore—yet at once, strong. Ready. His loins felt it, too. Oh...they felt it.

“Stand up, let it circulate. If your little poker down there is awake yet, you can——”

A kiss shut her up for once. His chance to taste her rosy lips again—for a split second, at least, ‘fore a hoof struck Swift’s ribs, teetering him over and sprawling him to the bed with a skull-rattling WHAP. Like a levin-flash the kirin was upon him, prying his jaw open and diving her tongue past his teeth ere he could even gasp. Swift’s hide crawled as the foreign tongue writhed inside his maw; the slimy appendage had gulped down his ejaculate minutes before and now it shared it with him. Not only thus, it methodically curled around his own tongue and squeezed. Hard. The rest of her body pinned him, draped him neath her disheveled clothes. There was naught he could do but whine and squirm his hips—he barely prodded his erection against something hot; her marehood, it must’ve been! Success, but at this price... He would take it.

Once sated, the courtesan slithered her tongue out from his mouth and rose up. Cloven toes weighed uncomfortably against his windpipe. “Don’t ever...try that on a normal whore,” she huffed, “or they’re like to stab you—or worse, charge you tenfold. Lucky... I have a secret policy: kisses are free, should you taste your own seed on them.”

Sudden silver flashed across Swift’s vision and stopped at his heart. A knife. Its white tip traced, ticklish as a feather, down his breast. “That policy stays a secret, withal—or else I’ll cut them off.”

He croaked past the cloven hoof, “I-I promise, I’ll never tell! And...won’t do that again...sor...ry...please!”

“Good.” A sharp thunk, and the knife was stuck fast in the wall far behind her. “You know...I felt you get excited down there when I drew my blade. You really are hopeless. It’s revolting.”

“Nn...maybe,” he conceded, still staring at the discarded blade.

“What’s with that trembling jaw? You fancy that a mare makes herself the center of attention and doesn’t carry defense?”

“No, I just...I remember, that drunkard...”

Her hooves clopped together. “Aha, yes! I’m pleased you saw him. I hope his wound gets infected.” She wiggled her rear against Swiftwater’s twitching pole, making it bob side to side. “I’d gut males like him if I could. Spill his blood, watch it soak into the stones, the gutters...see his teeth in the dirt...the maggots eating his eyes—don’t you want to see that, too?”

He throbbed feverishly against her rear even as her words churned his stomach. He nodded along, “Y-Y-Yes...my lady...”

“Mmm...” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m waiting, anyroad. You could be a stallion and rut me any time—or I could rip into you like a wild dog and fuck your ass into the dirt.”

His heart ached with fear. She could really do it, she could kill him, she could kill him. She’d do it if he didn’t please her, no doubt. How could a colt like him have gotten this deep? He wasn’t an adult, he never was—just a colt, and she was a demon. A sick, hungry demon that spoke of killing and blood and came from Hell to take his virtue and his soul. And his damned erection still wouldn’t go down. Gods... He could cry.

“I...I can be a stallion, I just...” Just wanted his mother.

“Just can’t, with your limp little worm?”

“Please...stop...”

She growled, “I generously lift you off the street and here’s all I get? Come on, boy—show me that virgin colt energy. Every time it got stiff at a mare, every dirty thought you’ve ever had—I want that. Give me a hard, desperate fucking! Come on!”

Swiftwater’s eyes slammed shut as he screamed. His hooves had clutched the courtesan’s flanks, without his control, and yanked them down to his crotch. He felt as he’d been struck by levin. Time froze. Fire overtook his member and a hearty slap met his ears. He was in her. He was inside of her. A mare. A demon. A killer. She felt so good. Her throat curled a moan into the air, trembling, hissing in through her teeth.

“Fuck,” through her clenched jaw. “Do me better. Harder.”

He groaned and lifted her flanks. His forelegs burned. He didn’t care. She was so hot and soft and slick inside. He dropped her back down on his pelvis with another slap, yelping as it hurt his balls. He didn’t care—couldn’t care when he was close.

“Dirty boy, wanting me in my tailhole so badly.” She grabbed his neck and spat, “You’re disgusting! Filthy little foreign pony, fuck me!”

Tailhole—it wasn’t what he wanted. But it counted. He’d make it count. “S-Shut up...demon!” he grunted. “You want it so bad? Beg, y-you whore!”

Hotter that Hell this demon was inside, even more than her throat—it was nigh cooking him. Primal shocks of pleasure and fiery agony crashed through him over and over again, stomping and huffing, making right messes of the bed, the whore’s clothes, her mane. The smell of smoke prickled Swift’s nose; sparks began flickering off the demon’s back and up to the rafters. And she kept growling. Deep, guttural, belonging to something else. Swift knew of the nirik, indeed, but this sounded wrong.

“Inside me, pegasus boy!” demanded this thing in its dark voice. “All inside. All of it—pump your balls deep, you dirty fucking swine!”

Drool fell from the colt’s lips as he slammed away into the demon. An animal, that’s all he was, a frenzied beast with the desire to breed. He moaned over the demon’s commands and tugged her—its flanks into himself, its weight squishing his balls painfully as he burst forth. Load after load after load furiously pumped inside, riding on a growl that he shared with the demon.

He did it. His virtue was gone, as was his soul.

The dizzy spinning of the world eventually slowed to a crawl. He was suddenly aware of being sodden by sweat the whole over. His body tingled with blazing heat, inescapable, all-consuming; his face felt hottest...with something thick dripping down his snout. He opened his eyes to look. What he saw broke him.

Protruding from disheveled silken clothes, it looked similar to Swiftwater’s own, yet from a mere glance it was bigger—rosy pink with earthy splotches, twitching mere inches from his face, dribbling with cloudy emission. Masculine odor wafted off it. The colt’s eyes traced upward to show what flipped his stomach and constricted his heart: the erection’s owner was panting, glaring down at him with half-lidded eyes that bored into his head. The demon who’d just been his first lay. And it grinned at him.

“I really, honestly, truly did not expect this to work. I was sure your stupidity was an act.”

A changeling, those purged from the city, was Swiftwater’s first thought. Alas, this was no bug; it was not even a different kirin. The female courtesan was nothing but a lie. His head was pounding. He opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue met with warm, stale strands of goo which trailed down his snout and neck and led to the organ lying upon his breast. He pursed his lips, sputtering, “Phh... Ugh! Wh-What happened to—?”

“Rich foreigners are such a treasure,” continued the kirin, and licked his fangs. His softening member twitched out a few drops more for the yellow colt. “I don’t deserve you, truly.”

“I... No, this—you looked—this is a mistake! No, no, no no no no...” Swiftwater’s chest shook and he held his head. His penis was inside a male. He had sex with him. He had sex with a male. If this got out, his parents, his reputation, his peers...all’d be in ruins. “I’m not like this, I’m not...”

“Mhm, mhm. Keep going. You’ve never even thought about stallions like that, right?”

“I can’t... Please...”

“So how did my hole feel? Like Heaven, if I may purchase your words?”

“M-My parents, they...they can’t find out... I thought you were a lady!”

The male sneered. “Of course I was a lady. I am an actor.” He reached down to brush Swiftwater’s teal mane aside, flinching him. “And if you are at all cultured, my dear little foreigner boy, you’ll have heard the name Goma. Goma of the Suijin-za.”

Of course Swiftwater knew the Suijin-za—the famed kabuki theatre of Heaven-on-High. But his parents forbid him from it always; the plays were too risqué and had too strong a pro-military sentiment. Thus, the name Goma was lost to him.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“Of course.” Goma sighed and shifted his weight so to come off the colt—with a vulgar wet sound and sliding sensation that made Swiftwater cringe and whimper. “But I’ve gone ahead of myself. What was that about ‘my parents can’t find out’?”

“They can’t!” he restated, covering his crotch in embarrassment. “They need me to find a pegasus mare! A-an expatriate here, or maybe when we go back home. If they know I...was with a stallion...” They’d hate him. Disown him. They wouldn’t kill him, but he’d wish they had.

Goma smiled in understanding ere he turned to fetch a smoke. “Ah, I see, I see. Your parents want even more of you little feather-dusters flying around in our land. And if they hear their son is a colt connoisseur, or even a mare-hater...”

“I’m not! Please, you can’t tell anyone!”

“Oh, wherefore would I tell?” He lit his kiseru and lounged back down. His lush tail curled and flicked with sadistic delight. “Of course, I would suffer no consequence but for some foreigners’ ire. I stay the beloved actor I am, and the burden fells you to your death. But am I so cruel?” He hissed smoke in Swift’s face, forcing the colt to bow his head. “No, I enjoy keeping my clients. I ensure they always return.”

“You’re...you’re blackmailing me?! That’s not legal!”

“Black...mailing?” He frowned.

“Y-Yes... Yes, you are! Holding me hostage, but with threats!”

“Hostage?” Goma’s snout twisted into a smirk that showed his demon-fangs. He gracefully arose and waltzed over to the door to undo the locks and crack it open. The room was painted with a stripe of crimson light. “Are you not free to leave? I have your coin. Your abstract western laws don’t exist here. But by all means, tell the bushi you’re being ‘blackmailed’. Tell the Emperor. Tell everyone all about how you wanted to fuck me.”

“I’m not... I never...” He was lost. All he could do was curl up and wish he could die. On his dry lips still dribbled Goma’s emission—by some dark purpose, he licked at it and swallowed.

* * *

In a dim room past corners a-dozen, a storehouse once connected to the Suijin-za, a foreign colt pressed his lips to a grown kirin’s. They shared hot pipe-smoke between their tongues—their ritual, now—as the kirin kissed his sheath against the colt’s. Swiftwater drew a chuckle from the kirin by eagerly licking the latter’s fangs; Goma knew he’d won again.

Bleeding the boy of mommy and daddy’s money felt good, aye, but the boy’s body felt better. Such an actor’s sterotype, Goma thought of himself—but what was wrong with that? What was more, his ears’d prick up at the occasional mention of a “Kijo” stalking the yūkaku. Such urban legends stroked his loins nigh better than any kirin or pony, mare or stallion.

“Same service again the next morrow?” Goma leaned against the door frame, licking his lips as he eyed down the colt.

“Y-Yes!” Swiftwater anxiously cried. “I can even pay in advance this time, and...and I’ll come see your plays! Just, please, keep this away from my parents, a-and my friends too. Everyone.”

“A promise is just that, boy.” He smirked. “For a week longer, at the least.”

“Thank you.” Bitter tears welled as he bowed. “Thank you...”