The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 3

by Maxim Jakubowski

  His entire being fascinated me; he was so much different than a Western man. His body was hairless and smooth, lacking the musky animal smell that some men have. He was very lean and strong, the lines of his muscles outlined in golden skin and indigo ink. His hair was heavy, straight, and black like the feathers of the ominous crows that haunt the streets of Tokyo, getting fat on garbage, rumoured to occasionally attack dogs and small children. Yakuza were like crows in that way, despised, yet an unwavering necessary evil.

  The love hotel we went to the night we ate Uni had red satin sheets and a black carpet. He’d removed his tie and his jacket, hung them carefully in the closet. Daisuke had placed his hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me back onto the bed. He unplugged the phone from the wall and used the plastic cord to bind my ankles to my wrists, leaving me splayed and open, an elaborate display of shibari. I felt like the sea urchin whose shell had been cracked open, oozing and vulnerable. Fully clothed in this absurd position, he unbuttoned my dress down the front, pushed my breasts up over the tops of my bra, worked his fingers in under the elastic of my panties, then cutting them off entirely using his knife, taking care not to nick my delicate skin.

  Once my vulva was fully visible, he pushed the labia back with his thumb and index finger and squeezed lube into the crevice running from my pussy to my ass. He angled me against the mirrored headboard to display the maguro-pink of my cunt and ass. He worked his fingers into both holes, and licked my clit until I came, gasping. He grasped my hips to lift my glistening pink sex onto his, and entered me. Daisukes cock was curved upward in long graceful lines. There were bumps along the underside – pearls, seven in all, one for each year he’d spent in prison. Each bump caught at the entrance before popping in, the smooth ridge working against my G-spot as he moved in me. He kept his fingers in my lubed ass and fucked me in both holes while telling me his fantasies – that he wanted to take me to the Yakuza headquarters for a gang bang, that he wanted to hire another gaijin girl and have us sixty-nine while he took turns fucking us from behind.

  Then, once his dirty talk had reached its climax, his cock seemed to simultaneously tighten and expand, and pulled out wet and glistening to spray his foamy white ejaculate onto my swollen vulva, like liquid pearls. He licked my neck and nastily whispered, “Maguro.” Sometimes I wondered if he viewed me as the great white tuna, chicken of the sea.

  Daisuke called me at the bar one late afternoon in August. The day was unbearably hot and humid, my dress soaked in sweat. The air conditioning had broken and the heat was stifling. The bar was desolate, a few of us sitting drinking gin and tonics and fanning ourselves with the cheap paper fans the bar gave out to advertise drink specials.

  I took a taxi to a hotel in the Ginza, the kind of place out-of-town dignitaries stayed when they visited Tokyo. Daisuke was holed up in a suite much classier than the love hotels where we held our nightly sex trysts. He opened the door wearing a white cotton yukata, a glass of whisky and crushed ice in one hand. The air in the room was so icy I felt as though I might faint from pleasure, my nipples visibly erect through my thin dress.

  Everything in the room was cream coloured: the diaphanous curtains pulled against sealed French windows, the whipped-cream soft thick carpet, the huge bed covered in summer cotton sheets, the thin kimono that covered Daisuke’s tattooed body. I wanted to pull the robe from his shoulders, touch his belly and his sex, taste the whiskey ice cube flavour of his mouth. He bolted the door behind me and led me into the white marble palace of a bathroom. He helped me strip from my sticky dress, and we bathed together. He washed every part of me carefully with a soapy cloth, and then we slipped into the vast tub of hot water together.

  He dried me with a fluffy white towel and gave me a yukata like his own. He led me into a smaller, dim bedroom adjoining the bathroom. A man in a suit was lying supine on the bed, limbs sprawled. A wet, red hole gaped from the back of his head. I shrieked in surprise.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” said Daisuke grimly. “He’s thoroughly dead.”

  “Who is he?”

  “My assassin. It seems I have made myself unpopular in certain circles.”

  “He didn’t do a very good job, did he?”

  “If you want a job done right, you’ve got to do it yourself,” Daisuke replied with little humour. He flicked on a bedside lamp and I jumped with a start. A white plastic bucket half-full of water was set on the floor beside the bed, and I was loath to look inside in case I might discover some disembodied organ quivering within. Instead, I found a grey, bulbous fish, swimming in circles, dazed by the light.

  “Tonight, we celebrate,” Daisuke proclaimed grandly.

  “Do you want to go out?” I inquired feebly. I wasn’t sure if I understood what we were celebrating.

  “There isn’t a restaurant in Tokyo that will satisfy my desire,” he replied, lifting the plastic bucket. “The liver of the fugu is the most delicious of any fish. It is a delicacy a man gets to enjoy once in a lifetime. A mildly hallucinatory effect, followed by strong sexual arousal, and excruciating death. Even the finest restaurants in Tokyo refuse to serve the liver, its too risky. Fortunately, my mother taught me the proper preparation. She herself died from overindulgence. I will be joining her tonight.”

  “Daisuke, you’re fucking crazy.”

  Daisuke fixed me with a demented grin. “Am I? I have killed ninety-nine men in thirty-five years. Tonight, I will kill the hundredth, and then I will retire. I want you to help me celebrate. In fact, I plan to compensate you quite generously.”

  “Daisuke, I refuse to eat poisonous blowfish. That’s where I draw the line.”

  “It’s not for you, bitch!” Daisuke screamed. The door chimes sounded above his voice. He regained his calm, carried the bucket into the main room of the suite and placed it near the bed. He opened the door, and a bellhop pushed a golden cart laden with champagne, strawberries, and other delicacies into the room. The bellhop retreated with a bow.

  Daisuke popped the champagne and poured it into two delicate glasses.

  “There’s a man who wants me dead. There’s plenty more where he came from,” he continued, blithely gesturing toward the other bedroom. “I guess you could say I’m something of a traditionalist. Death before dishonour. I’d rather kill myself than suffer a fool’s death at the hands of some chinpira thug. I’ve had a good run. In fact, its a miracle I’m still alive.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Don’t worry, there’s only enough fugu for one person. Thats why I had room service bring the rest, so you could have a good meal as well. I will prepare the fugu and eat it within minutes. The poison can set in minutes, or it may take hours. The poison paralyzes the respiratory system, so I will become unable to move or breathe, but still fully conscious. I want you to fuck me to death. The orgasm achieved when completely deprived of oxygen is rumoured to be exquisite, and the exertion will most likely render me unconscious. Don’t stop fucking me until you are absolutely sure I am dead. When you are finished, return home, but make sure no one sees you. Wait until my sister Minako arrives, she will bring you a parcel with the money in the morning, then leave the country. I don’t want them going after you in my absence.”

  “You’re completely serious, aren’t you?”

  “I am. There is one last thing. Under no circumstances should you kiss me once I have eaten the fugu, in case the poison is transferred from my lips to yours.” Daisuke drew me close to his body. “So kiss me while it is still safe.” He buried his hands in my thick hair and pulled my face to his, pressed his mouth to my lips and throat. My heart felt crushed, making it difficult to breathe and fight back tears. Daisuke ran his tongue along each eyelid.

  “You needn’t mourn me,” he whispered. “I’m going straight to hell.”

  Daisuke prepared the tools of destruction – a sharp blade and the cutting tray. He removed the fish from the bucket and severed its head with a swift cut. He carefully cleaned and gutted the fi
sh, and then he rinsed his hands and approached me.

  “Don’t do it.” I tried not to get hysterical.

  “It’s too late.”

  “I love you.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s best if you didn’t watch.”

  Daisuke blindfolded me and had me lie back on the bed.

  I felt cool sliminess on my belly. And then, I remembered – sushi in the raw. I laid still as I felt the fish being arranged on my stomach, breasts, and pubis, then sucked off without the formal assistance of chopsticks. He ate the fish from my body with pleasured moans, then licked my navel, my nipples, my groin. Then he entered me, slowly, one pearl at a time, and removed the blindfold. My heart was racing like a rabbit’s.

  “How soon until you die?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. But you may have to take over for me at some point.”

  “I wasn’t kidding when I said I love you.”

  “I know.”

  He thrust his cock into me, harder now, slamming his hips against mine, grabbing my hair and biting my neck. I growled and buried my nails in his back. I felt my anger take over, and we wrestled with each other. He let me win, pushing him onto his back so I could ride him. I pushed his hands away when he reached to touch my breasts. “You bastard!” I shrieked. “I fucking hate you! How could you do this to me!” My screams made him push his cock deeper into my body. I slapped his face and yanked his hair, excited by the evil fire that glowed in his eyes. I pushed my cunt down to meet his upward thrusts, rubbed my clit with my left hand while making him suck the fingers of the other.

  And then, his thrusts stopped, his body grown as rigid as his swollen penis.

  The poison had set in. Daisuke’s eyes were glazed with horror. I knew he was still conscious, though his body had frozen. I slowed my pace a bit, my pussy sucking sinuously around his thick shaft, gripping him tighter with my internal muscles as I slid up and down. That’s when my orgasm set in, shaking my body with an unholy violence. My hair was tangled, my tits and back dripping with musky sweat. “I could kiss you right now, and you couldn’t do a damn thing to stop me,” I informed his dying body. I squeezed again, and felt his final jolt of life spurt into my cunt, and I fucked his come deeper into my body, savouring the extra lubrication.

  Daisuke was dead. I was completely fucked up, exhilarated, probably in some sort of shock, my body stinking like sex and death. I pulled on my grimy dress and climbed out the hotel window and down the fire escape. I didn’t want to be trapped in that room with the corpse of my lover, especially when there were men looking to kill him. Outside, the night air was warm and quiet. I ran away from the hotel, relying on my instincts to get as far away as quickly as possible. This must be how he felt when he killed those men, I thought, though I hadn’t truly murdered him. Assisted suicide, the Dr Kevorkian of cocktail waitresses. Somehow I managed to find a cab to take me home to the relative safety and comfort of shower and bed.

  I was awoken from troubled sleep by the doorbell. No dream could rival the nightmare I’d already been through. Minako, I thought. I answered the door haphazardly wrapped in the sheet from my futon. Minako was in her early forties, tall like her brother, and curvaceous, with beautiful long straight hair and full lips. She wore sunglasses to hide eyes that were red from crying. She was wearing a long black dress and was perspiring lightly, exuding a faint spicy odour. She entered and closed the door after herself.

  Once inside, she reached for the hand that had been clutching the sheet to my body, leaving me standing nude in my shabby apartment. Minako eyed my body approvingly, traced the purple bruise that marred my throat with one long, red, fingernail.

  “My brother loved you,” was all she said. She handed me a package wrapped in red silk and tied with elaborately knotted gold cords. “I suggest you take the money and leave Tokyo as soon as possible,” she advised. “Where you go is none of my business.”

  “Thank you.”

  “There is one last thing he asked me to do,” she said hesitantly. She kissed me with her full red lips, probed me with her tongue. I felt electricity jolt from my mouth straight to my cunt.

  “A last kiss from my brother,” she finished. She turned away to leave.

  “Wait,” I called after her desperately. “Stay with me.”

  She smiled. “Tokyo is my home. I can’t leave. And I am not Daisuke.” She closed the door after herself.

  I fumbled with the package she gave me, yanking on the complicated cords like an overeager child. A hefty stack of 10,000 yen bills spilled out. And then, seven identical silver pearls rolled from beneath the money and landed on the woven straw carpet of the room.

  I went to Thailand and had them made into a necklace.

  Deserving Ruth

  Mike Kimera

  “My wife says you like to come in her mouth, David.”

  We are only one drink into the evening and this isn’t the conversational opener I’d expected. I nurse my bottle of Bud and say nothing.

  Lars puts his arm around my shoulders, leans his head down towards mine and says, “Mei Mei does have a talented tongue, but I always wonder about a man who is able to resist her tight little cunt. There’s something about the grip of a wet cunt on your cock that a mouth just can’t match, don’t you think?”

  I am very aware of the heat of Lars’ body next to mine. He is dressed in Levis and tight fitting black T-shirt and he looks like six foot four of pure muscle. For a moment it occurs to me that he could snap my neck without breaking sweat, but he is smiling and from the tone of his voice we could be talking about cars or sports.

  I glance over at Mei Mei. She looks small next to my wife, Ruth. They both have the same long black hair and have conspired to wear matching outfits, black silk shirt-dresses that stop inches above the knee and tie with a simple belt at the waist. Their makeshift uniforms emphasise how different they are. Ruth has a strong Slavic look; her breasts and hips seem almost swollen and overripe compared to Mei Mei’s compact Malaysian frame. The two of them are talking animatedly, leaning forward, their faces almost touching. Ruth’s hand rests on Mei Mei’s knee, her fingers pointing along the line of her thigh. Sexual intent seems to flash between them.

  “Ruth has nice breasts, David,” Lars says, “You must enjoy pressing her tits together and pushing your cock between them.”

  I feel the beginnings of an erection and I wish Lars would take his arm off my shoulders. I have never fucked Ruth’s tits, she has never let me, but I have often wondered what it would be like.

  I continue looking at the women to give myself time to decide how to get Lars to move his arm without causing offence. After all, this is his house; I was brought up not to insult my host.

  Ruth’s hand is now out of sight, underneath Mei Mei’s dress. Mei Mei leans forward and pushes her tongue into Ruth’s mouth. There is something staged about the kiss. The tongues are too visible. I know that, out of the sides of their eyes, they are looking at Lars and me, putting on a show for us.

  Ruth is in charge, of course. Ruth is always in charge. She was the one who brought Mei Mei into our bed. She told me that they met at one of those Manchester sauna clubs that doubles as a swingers swap centre. Mei Mei was new and all the men had been trying to get her attention. Ruth pushed them aside, pulled Mei Mei’s head back by the hair and then kissed her. Mei Mei kissed back and opened her legs slightly. Ruth said that Mei Mei was so wet she could have slid her whole fist into her cunt. As it was, pushing two fingers in was enough to cause general applause from the watching men.

  Normally Ruth doesn’t involve me in her promiscuous adventures, but she always tells me about them. She wants me to know the lengths that she goes to to find satisfaction.

  Ruth has a set routine. Whenever she gets really horny she goes to the club and fucks. Then she comes back and tells me all about it. She makes me sit in the living room with the palms of my hands on the arm of the chair. If I move my hands she will walk out of the room and not tell me anything mo
re. If I stay still, she will talk me through every detail, all the while coaxing my cock to get harder and harder. Then she’ll let me be her last fuck of the day.

  I was in the chair, being told about the Malaysian girl who had nipples like rivets and hair like silk and I was getting nicely stiff when Ruth said, “You’ll love her mouth on your cock. She’ll swallow you whole.”

  This was a departure from the routine. I was still trying to decide what to make of it when Ruth said, “You can come in now.”

  Mei Mei came out of our bedroom. She was naked. She didn’t look at me, only at Ruth. Her look was full of longing.

  “I told her she could only lick my cunt once her mouth was filled with your come,” Ruth said, as if she was describing some everyday instruction.

  I said nothing. Speech was beyond me. Mei Mei knelt and looked up at Ruth.

  “Keep your mouth open and your tongue out,” Ruth said.

  Ruth began to work my cock with her fingers. Her grip was strong enough to hurt. She was interested in results, not finesse. She took care to rub my glans against the tip of Mei Mei’s tongue from time to time. When she felt that I was ready to come she pushed Mei Mei’s head forward so that I was in her mouth when the come pulsed out of me.

  “Don’t swallow that,” Ruth said.

  Mei Mei opened wide, letting my limp cock slip out, and showed Ruth the come she held in her mouth.

  Ruth sat on my lap with her back to me, her legs spread on either side of my knees.

  “Show me how deep you can push that come inside me,” Ruth said.

  As Mei Mei worked with her tongue, Ruth gave me a running commentary on her performance. She told me that Mei Mei was a much better cunt-licker than me and said that she must have had a lot of practice.

  The narration became more and more breathless as Mei Mei buried her head between Ruth’s legs. When Ruth came her whole body tensed against mine. I was hard again by now, my cock rolling around under Ruth and close to Mei Mei’s mouth. I wanted to be inside one of them.