Blood on the Chrysanthemum
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 3: The Ceremony
Historical Sex Story: Chapter 3: The Ceremony - A fictional tale of the legendary female samurai Tomoe Gosen A tale of brutal revenge, forbidden love, and the true meaning of bushido. Three women will claim their freedom with sword, gold, and courage.
Caution: This Historical Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa Romantic Polygamy/Polyamory Oriental Female First Oral Sex Petting Revenge Violence
Yoshida, Mikawa Province, Spring 1597
The cherry blossoms were in full bloom the morning Kiku became samurai.
She knelt in the center of the training yard, back perfectly straight, hands resting on her thighs. The dawn sun painted everything gold—the estate, the blooming trees, her father standing before her in formal hakama.
Nine years of training had brought her to this moment.
Oda knelt to her left, witness to what was about to happen. Her mother stood on the engawa, silent and still as a painted figure.
Her father held two swords.
The blades were magnificent—forged by a master smith in Kyoto, commissioned two years ago when her father had known, had decided, that this day would come. The handles were wrapped in black silk. The scabbards were lacquered midnight blue with silver fittings that caught the morning light.
“Fujioka Kiku,” her father said, his voice formal, carrying across the yard. “You have trained for nine years. You have endured pain without complaint. You have mastered the blade, the bow, the naginata. You have proven yourself worthy.”
She said nothing. Kept her eyes lowered, her breathing steady.
“These swords were forged for you. They bear names that reflect their purpose and the warrior who will wield them.”
He knelt before her, holding the first blade horizontally across his palms.
“This is Tsuki no Kage. Shadow of the Moon. Like the moon, you will bring light to darkness. Like a shadow, you will move unseen until you strike.”
Kiku raised her hands, palms up, and her father placed the sword across them. The weight was perfect. Balanced. Deadly.
She brought the blade to her forehead in formal acknowledgment, then laid it across her lap.
Her father lifted the second sword.
“This is Hoshi no Hikari. Light of the Stars. May you shine even in the darkest night. May you guide yourself home, no matter how lost you become.”
Again, the exchange. The weight. The acknowledgment.
Now both swords rested across her lap. Both gifts. Both deadly.
Both proof that her father saw her—truly saw her—as what she’d become.
“Rise,” her father commanded. “Rise as samurai.”
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