by Zane
Later that evening many neighbors came over for my last night, and we ate octopus and seaweed until it was coming out of our pores. I drank sake until my 20/20 vision had downgraded to 20/40. The sake was beginning to blur my eyes and wake up my coochie. It was all good though, because everyone was having a good time.
7
WHEN THE COMPANY FINALLY left, Masaki came to me and started that Japanese babble again, and I nodded my head again like I did at the temple. Out of respect he bowed, then began talking with Kazue and Meiko. They smiled at me, bowed, and immediately left the room.
Kazue went to prepare my bathwater. In Japan everyone uses the same water. It’s tradition that guests bathe first, and I thought to myself, Thank goodness I am company! The thought of getting into someone else’s nasty, dirty bathwater was not appealing. That sounded like a good way to get all kinds of unwanted pussy infections. In the bathroom, a sink was outside the actual room that housed the hot tub. The water was a beautiful green that smelled like pine, which was supposed to be good for the body.
Kazue showed me how to scoop the water out to rinse myself off, before getting into the hot tub. The tub was not for bathing, I was told. It was for soaking and relaxing. A timer was set for one minute of soaking. After soaking in the green water, I was supposed to set the timer again to soak one minute in the ice-cold-water basin. After Kazue left, I knew I wasn’t going to do the ice-cold water, so I wasn’t even going to trip about it. I just pretended to get in it, splashing my hand around in the water to make it sound like I was actually rinsing off.
A huge picture window faced the back of the house, which was surrounded by trees. I was pretty sure someone was looking at me. Hell, as big as the window was, I wouldn’t be surprised if all of Japan was watching me. The tub was so narrow I had to almost wash up in a fetal position. So I climbed out of the tub and straddled my legs over the sides of it and took the sea sponge and started to trickle green pine water down my pussy. The water gave my pussy a little buzz like it was some kind of Japanese magic potion. The more I rubbed my clit with that sponge, the more my nipples hardened and the more my pussy started to light up. The movement in the bushes began to appear obvious, and I figured it was now showtime.
8
I TURNED MYSELF OVER and lay across the tub so that my legs were hoisted high in the air so that my pussy could be seen from the back. Without trying to fall headfirst in the tub, I opened my legs as far as I could and reminded myself of one of those contortionists from the UniverSoul Circus. I worked my pussy, alternating from the back to the front, until the cum from my pussy mixed with the pine in the water. The combination of the cool night air and the hot pussy juices gave me aftershocks that caused me to turn over and finish myself off by rubbing my clit until I came again. With the little strength I had left, I slid back into the tub and enjoyed the rest of my therapeutic bath.
When I was ready to get out of the water, Masaki’s wife, Meiko, escorted me to my room and started drying me off. I thought she was just going to dry my back, but she dried between my toes, in my ass, and under my pussy. In another time and place I would probably have thought she was trying to jump my bones, but she caressed me in a way that relaxed me and put me in a meditative state. I figured my paranoia was probably just the sake settling in.
Meiko then started to rub me down with some pine-smelling oil that was warm to the touch. She used some hand massager as she rubbed it on me, then she parted my legs to rub it on my pussy. My clit responded in the most inappropriate way. Noticing what she had done, she placed a silk pillow behind me to elevate my hips and pulled out some pink, Japanese-looking “bullet.” She parted my legs gently and used her fingers to pull back the hood of my clit, exposing my swollen knot.
9
SHE USED SOME TYPE of clamp to hold the hood in place so it would not obstruct what she was doing and also had a stream of cold air blowing on it with the other hand. With her thumb she began massaging my clit until I started mumbling some American obscenities, like “Oh, shit,” “Work that pussy,” or something ghetto like that. Good thing she didn’t understand what I was talking about. After acting like a pussy-whipped fool, she started buzzing me with that little pink bullet, and I never saw it coming. By the time she finished with me, it felt like I had undergone some sort of electric shock therapy.
My pussy felt better than it had ever felt in my life, and I knew my pussy lips must have been smiling! I could hardly walk, but gimpy-legged as I was, I managed to hobble over to some sort of chair that had the oddest shape. Seeing that I could hardly stand up, Meiko helped me to the chair. Without even letting me catch my breath, she strapped me to the chair with leather straps and metal clamps. My head and neck were positioned toward the floor. The middle of the chair had my exposed pussy elevated upward. My legs were straddled to the sides, reminding me of those stirrups the doctor uses when you get a Pap smear. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn I was in some kind of “fucking chair.” I knew Japanese technology was advanced, but a “fucking chair,” how fucking great was that?!
The whole time Meiko was drying me off, Masaki and Kazue were watching. Kazue took Masaki’s silk robe off to expose his pink, erect dick, and with two hands he pulled back his foreskin (making the head of his dick look like a cherry Blow Pop), while Meiko lubricated it with some green stuff. I couldn’t get up if I wanted to because the chair had me on lockdown. Meiko applied the same green stuff to my pussy, and when she finished, she bowed to Masaki and he bowed to her, then she took her place beside Kazue. It just hit me that this was what Masaki must have been babbling about back at the temple. Oh, well, I figured, we might not have been able to speak each other’s language, but we were about to break down all barriers and communicate in that universal language of sex.
10
MASAKI ENTERED ME SLOWLY as he stood over me with his hands on his hips, looking like one of those ancient samurai warriors. Handrails and straps were built into the chair, making it easy for him to keep pumping me without coming up for air or losing balance. The way my pussy was elevated, he could go deep inside me without me having to raise my legs. The shape of the chair made it easy for him to rock it slightly, making his dick go in and out of me on every other stroke. He kept mumbling some Japanese jargon, which probably was on the lines of “Whose pussy is this!” or more likely “I’m getting ready to cum!” Just as I was thinking that, he pulled his dick out of my pussy and positioned himself behind me and came all over me, making sure he deposited most of his cum on my face.
On cue, Meiko wiped his limp dick off like it was made of gold, and Kazue helped him with his robe, and he exited the room after taking a long bow in my direction. Together Meiko and Kazue bathed me in the green pine water, laid me on the futon, massaged me with some warm oil, and left me alone for a while to recuperate. When I joined the family in the living room, Meiko was preparing our meal, Sawa and Itasuki were juggling, and Kazue showed me some of her beautiful flower arrangements.
11
LATER THAT EVENING WE all drank green tea and ate rabbit cakes (not real rabbit), and for my last night in the Land of the Rising Sun, Masaki and Meiko presented me with an exquisite black lacquer music box that had a hand-painted picture of a sazanka on it. In Masaki’s broken English he explained that sazanka was a flower that blooms in the winter, even in the snow. It was the strongest of flowers, which maintained its beauty even in the worst weather. I liked the sound of that and decided Sazanka would be my new Japanese name. I was given many more gifts that evening, and as I celebrated my last night with my Japanese family, we all seemed to be speaking the same language!
The Flow of Qi
MICHELLE J. ROBINSON
“SHIT!” MONDAY MORNING, 9:45 a.m., and Tony still wasn’t here. Susan had been here since eight in the morning. This was the third time in six months that he had been late—time to hire another assistant.
Tony walked in at ten, mumbling something about the subway.
“Tony, get J
essica on the phone,” Susan said abruptly.
Some people might have found it a wee bit heartless to have their assistant call the office manager to institute their own dismissal, but Susan wasn’t most people. She had made it crystal clear to Tony that he was to be at his desk on time, ready to start work at precisely 9:30 a.m. each day—not 9:31, not 9:45, but precisely 9:30 a.m. She had also made it clear from day one what would happen if that requirement was not met. Sure, he was a good assistant, but New York City was littered with good secretaries. She wanted—no, she demanded—the complete package. Her law practice was an around-the-clock business. As she saw it, any assistant she had was lucky she didn’t ask him or her to come in before 9:30 a.m. Therefore, she expected Tony or anyone else she employed to be there on time. As far as she was concerned, the minute he walked in at 10:00 a.m. was the moment he tendered his resignation.
After Tony got Jessica Williams on the phone, Susan slammed her office door.
“I’ll just cut to the chase,” Susan said abruptly. “Tony was half an hour late today. I believe I made it very clear to everyone concerned that any assistant working for me needs to be on time—every morning. Did I not?”
“Yes, Ms. Perkins, but Tony is one of our best employees. He does a great job, stays late, and all of the clients and partners think he’s great.”
“Point one—he works directly with me, and my review of his work is adequate, at best. Somehow we’ve become a society that rewards mediocrity. He does his job and gets paid rather handsomely for doing so, nothing more. Point two—he is not always on time or you and I would not be having this conversation, would we? He has been late three times in six months. Point three—he does not work for the clients, nor does he work for the other partners. He works for me. The partners in this firm have given me a certain level of autonomy, not out of the kindness of their hearts, but because I bill over four hundred hours every month and have established a reputation as an attorney who wins her cases. I want Tony out of here, and I want him replaced with an assistant who understands my requirements. Do you understand that, Jessica?”
Susan laughed to herself when she thought of the other reason she was able to call the shots around here. Susan had made it a point to keep her eyes and ears open from day one. Because she was a woman, the partners at the firm had greatly underestimated her. When they finally figured out what they were dealing with, it was too late. Susan knew all their dirty little secrets. She knew who was stealing, who was gay, who was fucking their secretary, whose sexual tastes bordered on the unusual, and who wanted her to disappear. But, Susan was smart and compiled an arsenal of proof, just in case she needed it. She also made herself invaluable, ingratiating herself with as many clients as she could come into contact with as well as compiling her own rather extensive and elite client list. Susan had clients from virtually every sector of the planet, from athletes to actors to leaders in government. She had become one of the most sought-after attorneys in New York City, and not even those who despised her most could challenge that she was damn good at her job.
“Yes, Ms. Perkins, I understand. I’ll start interviewing potential candidates right away.”
Susan watched Tony pack up his belongings and decided that since she didn’t have an assistant for the rest of the day, she would go have a martini and unwind.
Susan got bored quickly, worked around the clock, and therefore had little time for bullshit—that’s why she liked Pleasure Principle. The club had been started by Janet Myers. Susan and Janet had been partners at Mullens & Schneider. After several years there, Janet became disenchanted. She was sick to death of the old boys’ network, and the law no longer excited her. The difference between Janet and Susan was, Janet was uncomfortable trying to fit into the mold society had created for women in business, while Susan had decided she would create her own mold and everyone else would have to find a way to fit.
One night Susan and Janet had had a drink with a prospective client at a local gentlemen’s club. Susan and Janet were both attractive women, and Susan presumed that this client was in a position to kill two birds with one stone: he could sit and watch the sexy, scantily clothed women onstage bump, grind, and remove their clothing while he imagined what both Janet and Susan looked like under their gabardine suits. That night Susan was wearing a black, single-breasted Barneys suit, with a white silk blouse underneath, which she had left unbuttoned enough to reveal her ample 38D cleavage. The skirt stopped right above her knees and showed off her wonderfully shapely legs. The formfitting waist of the jacket accentuated her curvy hips, and instead of the ponytail she usually sported, her long brown hair cascaded past her shoulders, lending her a dual air, as conservative wild woman. Instead of a flesh-toned lipstick or gloss, she was wearing bright red, a stunning complement to her mocha complexion. Susan liked playing cat and mouse as much as the next guy, but she would never under any circumstances be the mouse, and if that was what this client had in mind, he would be sorely disappointed.
Janet’s blue shirt was buttoned up to her neck, and she had chosen a suit that camouflaged all of her assets. You could never tell that Janet was five feet eleven inches, 135 pounds, with an impressive set of hooters and an ass as round as a basketball. Her legs went on for days, but the long, pleated skirt she was wearing hid all evidence of that. What she couldn’t hide was that shock of red hair and beautiful freckles. Janet was a natural beauty who required little embellishment, and even with a suit of clothing like a potato sack, she couldn’t hope to hide that beautiful face of hers.
Susan was hooked from the moment she entered the gentlemen’s club. She was always fascinated with the sheer power of sex, and this place was a glowing representation of its influence.
Despite her earlier reservations, it only took Janet half an hour at the club to figure out what a fucking gold mine the place was. Always the businesswoman, she started her wheels turning. The bar was turning over money hand over fist. The women were scantily clothed, and the combination of libido and alcohol helped money to flow. Janet had been looking for a business venture that would work, and this seemed like a moneymaking idea, something that hadn’t already been done. It could be risky, but it could also be exactly what she was looking for. So-called gentlemen’s clubs were all over New York City, but she had never in her life heard of a “ladies’ club.” Within five years she had started a chain of clubs all over New York City. Her first, her baby, was Pleasure Principle. One year after all the kinks had been ironed out, she opened Epic, and two years after that, Dionysus, Eros, and the Lollipop Lounge.
Janet had tried to get Susan to come in as her partner, but Susan liked things just fine the way they were. Pleasure Principle was Susan’s home away from home, and as with anything that gave her pleasure, she protected it. She was Janet’s attorney, and despite the local bureaucrats’ desire to shut the places down, Susan made sure they didn’t.
Susan walked in, sat down at the VIP table expressly reserved for her, and surveyed the room. Sam, a muscular black dancer with an extremely large dick, came over to the table. Susan palmed his taut ass and stroked his butt cheeks. He was wearing a white G-string, which made his dick look even larger than it was. She had fucked him before, and he was well-endowed. She had only fucked him once, though, because he didn’t take instructions well and he talked too goddamn much. She couldn’t stand it when a man felt the need to talk through the entire thing. This was probably all well and good for someone looking for love, but she wasn’t caught up in illusions of some great romance. She wanted to get fucked, licked, and sucked and usually had little time to get that done. She didn’t have time for whispered words of love and admiration; she was on a clock.
Susan ordered a dry martini and thought of asking Sam whether Wiley was working tonight, then thought better of it. The dancers were artful at “cock-blocking.” They knew Susan paid well, and each vied for the coveted role of stud for the night. Tonight, she wanted her pussy eaten. Wiley was the man for the job. One night he ate he
r out so good, she went home and masturbated to the feeling his tongue had left implanted on her pussy walls.
As she sipped her martini, Marvin Gaye’s soul-stirring tune “Sexual Healing” began to play, and Wiley made his way onto the stage. He wasn’t a big man, about five feet nine inches tall and about 165 pounds, but he looked like Mickey Rourke. She had masturbated many a night to 91/2 Weeks and Wild Orchid. Wiley executed an artful bump-and-grind routine, leaving Susan’s pussy dripping wet. Her cunt was doing involuntary Kegels and she was glad she hadn’t worn any panties. No use in wasting time. She wanted whoever would be dining on her feast tonight to get straight to it. Susan winked at Wiley and he quickly got her meaning. After his show he came over to where she was sitting.
“Hey, Susan, how’s it goin’? Can I get you anything?”
“How’s that nice long tongue of yours?”
Susan would have liked nothing better than to jump on the table, spread-eagle, and let Wiley go to town, but the last thing she wanted was for this place to get shut down. So, they proceeded to a “private room,” classified as a place for private drinks and conversation for legal purposes—its true and primary function being a “fuck den”—and there wasn’t a room Susan hadn’t christened. In one of the rooms Susan had convinced Janet to install a chair similar to a dentist’s, but with stirrups, like at the gynecologist’s office, and harnesses. No expense was spared having it made, designed to Susan’s exact specifications. It had a massage feature and could tilt 360 degrees. Susan shut and locked the door and welcomed sweet release. She positioned her legs in the stirrups and scooted down to the end of the chair. Her pussy was wide-open and her juices trickled onto the chair below in anticipation.