Woe in Kabukicho

by Ellis, Madelynne

  “Now who’s teasing,” he says, a purr of approval underscoring his words. He takes my hand and drags it down to where his cock is standing firm within his underwear. I squeeze and stroke along his length, enjoying the feel of him in my palm, even separated by the fabric. He bites his lip in response and his eyelids flutter closed. Slowly, I lick my way down his body to his navel. He is virtually hairless.

  “Is this what you did with Taiko?”

  “What?” He gasps. “No.”

  “Then why does she hate you?” I continue to stroke his cock, which jerks, growing taller.

  Sky pushes one hand into my hair. To steady himself, I think.

  “I thought you didn’t want to talk.”

  “I don’t mind a little light banter.”

  He scoffs at that. “Undo my fly and maybe I’ll tell you.”

  I get to my knees. “Is it that exciting?”

  Sky looks down at me, his cheeks flushed with arousal, and his teeth still troubling his lip. “She’s a spoilt lonely princess. I said no, and she didn’t like it.”

  “Was that before or after you did something like this with her?” I coax his trouser button through the hole and draw down his zip. His underwear is black, his cock greedy and already straining against the elastic. I free him and he bobs towards me in greeting.

  “She tried to buy me. But you can’t buy affection, only obligation. She expected way too much of my soul. I’m not interested in her presents. I don’t need an apartment or a car. I’ve no wish to become one woman’s concubine.”

  “How about becoming my plaything for one night?” I flick my tongue against his cock tip, then at various points along the stem. I’m as eager as he is to taste him properly, but I’m also enjoying the slow burn. Too often things are over before they’ve properly begun. Perhaps this isn’t the ideal location to test our endurance, but I’d rather run the risk of being caught out than being rushed and failing to savour everything about this night that I might enjoy.

  “When was the last time you made love?” I ask, as I nuzzle against the long muscles of his thigh.

  His reply is ragged and needy. “Not since I left the UK. Everything since has just been sex—drunken fumblings, a few quickies in alleyways.”

  “Tell me about the alleyways.” To add persuasion, I finally take him within my mouth.

  He sighs and squeaks, “You expect me to communicate while you do that?”

  I curl my fingers into his arse, and draw him in deeper.

  “Okay, it was with another host, and more mutual masturbation than sex per se.”

  “A guy?”

  “Yeah, another guy.” He holds my head in both hands now and pulls me back towards his cock. “Don’t stop.”

  There’s no fear of that. I’m enjoying the taste of him too much, all musky and sharp. I love the way he rubs against my lips, the groans he makes as I swipe my tongue across his glans. It causes a flood of arousal to dampen my knickers every time he sighs and his fingers tighten on my scalp.

  “I’m not saying who it was. But he’s fit. Let’s call him Angelo as he has a cross tattooed across his abs. We were both horny and taking a breather out the back of the club. It must have been 6 a.m. Still dark, cause it was winter. I’m not even sure how it started.”

  I can sense the smile within his words. He does remember, in perfect detail. He’s just not prepared to share.

  “Anyway, we didn’t kiss. We just rubbed each other’s cock, and then I came between his thighs. I offered to let him do the same, but he didn’t want to get off like that. I think he was hoping I’d turn about and let him do me in the arse. But it’s not my scene. So I just continued to jerk him off until he came.”

  The lapse into crudities amuses me. It’s so far removed from his polished and polite tone earlier. Still, I wonder if this little vignette is true, or if the ending is merely tweaked for my benefit. Does he imagine a man as a bedfellow is less discomforting to my ears than hearing of his other female conquests? Has he factored in my curiosity, the tingle that rushes under my skin when I visualize him with Angelo?

  Two men entwined together—Lord, how it calls to the voyeur in me. Naughty me, I’ve always had a thing for men who swing both ways.

  I pull away from him at the taste of his seed upon my tongue. “Kiss me.” I rise and push against him. My hands close over the exposed cheeks of his arse and bring our hips together. The contact makes me smile. Especially the feel of his bare erection pressed tight to my stomach. It doesn’t matter if the tale is real or pure fantasy. What matters is that I have him here.

  A half-formed protest at my roughness dies upon his lips as I ravage his mouth. He bites back as my hands rake across his body. There’s nothing tentative about his second exploration. I touch and pinch wherever I please, and he does just the same, until I’m writhing against his thigh, bringing welcome friction to my cunt.

  Sky steadies me, and we waltz around the tree until it’s I who is pinned. He drags the shoelace straps of my dress from my shoulders and leaves them dangling against my arms. He licks his way down the side of my throat, bites and kisses. Lower… His hands cup my breasts. His nose presses into the channel between them so that his hot breath scalds my skin.

  He drags the neckline of my dress lower, until my bra is exposed, and then pulls that down too, exposing my breasts.

  For what is surely a whole minute, he just stares at the tender white flesh. The pale nipples perk up, and point to him in greeting. He leans forward smiling, teases me three times before he finally sucks.

  And it feels glorious.

  Delirious, I thrash against the bark. I don’t remember the last time sex felt this good. Has it ever felt so bewilderingly intense? I want to still be here when the sun comes up. I want to see his skin by the light of day. I wish that just one person would walk past now and witness us, just so that I can prove to myself that this is real. In many ways being here with Sky seems too vivid to be real.

  He doesn’t go down on me, just lifts my skirt and slides his fingers under the edge of my knickers. The touch is almost too intense at first. I wriggle against him, wanting both more and less. Sky slicks his fingers in my folds, and rubs back and forth. The scratch of the bark against my rear means nothing to me then, and I dance upon my toes.

  “Sky,” I gasp. “Sky,” as I grab his arms, his shoulders, anything in fact that I can cling to.

  “What is it? Don’t you like to be touched?”

  He’s an infuriating tease, but I love it. Normally once their trousers are down, men are too direct. Sex is all about their cocks and nothing else. Sky isn’t like that. His brain is still firmly seated in his head. His fingers dance lightly one moment and firmly the next. They circle, but never quite touch my clit, so that the thread of desire grows tighter and tighter.

  “Please,” I beg.

  “Please, what?”

  “Touch me,” I gasp against the side of his neck, my head now resting upon his shoulder.

  “I am touching you.”

  I clamp my teeth together, trying to keep some sense of physical reality. “Please…”

  This time the plea is a whimper. “Touch my clit.” “Only if you’ll touch my cock.”

  I imagine us mirroring his experience in the alleyway with Angelo, as I curl my palm around his cock. Two bodies rubbing up against each other, mimicking the rhythm of coitus. Hell, maybe it wasn’t a mockery. I have no way of knowing if anything Sky says is true.

  I can picture them so clearly though. Angelo in the position I occupy now, his back to the wall, Sky against him, with his butt exposed to the neon glow of the surrounding advertisements.

  It’s my opinion that Sky has a fetish for outdoor sex.

  After this, I think I may develop one too.

  Unlike his time with Angelo, we do kiss. Our tongues tangle and the taste of oranges explodes upon my tongue. The zingy citrus tang is elevating and shocking. I gasp, mouth open with desperate need.

  “More,” I d
emand, pushing myself down upon his hand. His thumb finally glides over my clit, causing mini fireworks, while he slips two fingers into my more than willing core.

  Normally I’d be embarrassed by how wet I am, but I feel none of that now. Joyous, I ride the tide of pleasure. Then, simultaneously, I realize I’m right on the edge and that I want more than mutual masturbation from him. I want him inside of me. This tide of pleasure is not enough. What I desire is physical and heady. It’s about heat and a lack of inhibitions. It’s raw, demanding and thunders, torrent-like through my veins. I pull him to me and writhe against his thigh.

  Sky holds me steady, while he shoves his trousers right down. They no longer cling to his thighs, but coil instead around his knees. We tumble downwards together and roll upon the grass. Pink and white petals stick to our clothing and hair. We stop right by the water’s edge.

  I imagine the fish nibbling our toes as Sky roughly manoeuvres me onto my hands and knees, him kneeling behind me. He hitches my skirt over my hips and pulls my sopping panties to one side. I feel cool air, then the tip of his cock, like a firm velvet baton against my plumped and eager sex. Unable to keep still, I jiggle encouragingly as he rubs himself back and forth coating himself in the evidence of my arousal. Just the sound of that makes my insides squirm too.

  “Please, Sky,” I beg. I’m so high that my whole body is tingling. I’m going to come very quickly.

  “It’s Kit,” he says, leaning over me so that his hot breath scalds my ear. “My name is Kit. Say it. It’s a long time since I heard anyone scream it in ecstasy.”

  “Kit!” It’s so English. So normal. So far outside this Oriental dream world, it’s hard to accept. But whatever he asks at this point, I swear I’ll do it. “Please fuck me, Kit!” Why is he pausing? Then I hear the rip of foil, and realize he still has his wits about him. He’s taking care of me, when my own protective instincts have run wild in the face of passion.

  Suitably dressed, he makes a single desperate thrust as he pulls me sharply back. I slide onto him like a glove that fits perfectly. We both groan as we try so hard to hold still, both attempting to prolong that first precious fleeting moment. The second thrust is never the same.

  My face is aglow with heat as we build a rhythm together. Once we’re in the swing of things, he reaches around and makes sure that I get that extra bit of stimulation I need.

  I’m so wet his fingers glide over the hard bead that is my clit. I wish I could touch him too, so that I could cling to him, my nails digging hard into his back.

  Rapture—there’s no other word to describe the sensations he evokes. I bleat and plead, push back hard to meet his increasingly urgent thrusts. He fills me so perfectly, that from the outset I’m trying to prolong the act. I may as well be trying to prevent the dawn from occurring, despite the sun already peeping over the horizon. There’s simple inevitability about the situation we’re in that builds and adds to the intense, erotic fervour I feel.

  I’ve had good sex before. But this is different. I’m tense, because we’re so exposed. However, simultaneously I’m languid and feverish with need.

  “Please… Harder…” I beg.

  He hisses through his teeth when he gives in to every demand. I love the sound. I can picture his face. His eyes closed, muscles and jaw line tensed, and a beauteous smile teasing the curve of his lips.

  “More. Oh, you’re so good… There.” I grab his hand and direct his attention to the heart of my pleasure centre. A single touch there is all it takes to leave me balanced on a knife’s edge, wobbling uncertainly, still trying to cling on to this moment of physical oneness. I don’t want it to end.

  I don’t want the darkness that will follow the release.

  But nor can I stop myself from pursuing it.

  It’s fleeting. That’s the beauty of it. Release-- it’s just one bright pinpoint in the darkness. All that striving and tension culminate in one sublime ecstatic moment.

  We don’t come at the same time, which I rather like. Kit, or Sky as I still think of him, gives me a long and thorough work out using his cock and his long fingers to perfection. I come again and this time I make sure to scream his name. It seems to tip the balance. His orgasm seems to start in the tip of his cock then buck backwards and run upwards through his body so that he holds himself rigidly straight, his fingers curled into the bared cheeks of my bum.

  Gingerly, we ease ourselves apart, stiff from the effort and a little cold. Clothes straightened we lie side by side upon the grass holding hands. There aren’t any stars left in the sky, not even artificial ones, only the pinkish haze of the rising sun.

  That’s when I tell him what really happened between Gavin and me. How our plans to start a family went AWOL, and how we could only look at each other in terms of optimum temperatures and fertility. We stopped being friends, just became a couple desperate for a baby. Now we’re in a no-man’s land, not entirely together, not precisely apart. Me in Japan, him caught up in liquidating futures.

  Kit listens non-judgmentally. He lets me speak until I run out of words; only then does he roll over and face me.

  His eyes are unbelievably dark. They are two deep pools of expressive warmth, fringed with long dusky eyelashes. He strokes his thumb over the curve of my cheek. “You know you’ve come to the right place.”

  “I have?” I reach up and brush the hair from his face so that I might drown in the deep pools of his eyes a moment longer. I know in my heart, that he doesn’t mean us to repeat our little dalliance riding bareback. Kit’s not looking to become a dad, nor is it the solution I’m looking for.

  “In two days’ time is the Kanamara Matsuri festival in Kawasaki.”

  My eyes cross in continued puzzlement. I’ve not heard of it before.

  “Go there, to the Wakamiya Hachimangu shrine. Ride the iron phallus and pray. It’ll break the teeth of the demon that resides inside you.”

  “Demon!”

  He shrugs when I scoff. “If you want things to work out, and I think you do, then will it hurt to try?”

  I do want things to work out. That’s the root of the problem—despite my attempt to escape the past by coming to Japan, I’m unable to let go. I miss Gavin’s lopsided smile and the fuzz upon his chest. I miss his taste, his smell and the way he says, “Goodnight.”

  Guilt at having had sex with another man brings a sour taste to my mouth. I swallow it down, as I realize that being here with Kit may actually just have saved my marriage. “What exactly does riding this iron phallus entail?”

  He laughs, and flips up onto his feet. I rise more sedately and hunt around for my shoes. Kit retrieves them from beneath the tree. “Don’t worry. You won’t be the only one. Lots of people go. You just need to sit on it. It’s about six foot long.”

  “A six foot iron schlong?” My eyes widen and then I too am laughing. From the moment I descended into this neon lit Japanese night world my whole image of reality has become skewed. “Kiss me,” I say as we stroll back along the parkways.

  Of course he does.

  There are tears mixed in with the kisses. They roll over our tongues as we make our bittersweet goodbyes. We won’t see each other again. I know that. He’ll go back to the bar and I’ll return to my hotel room and concoct a damn good excuse why I can’t calculate accounts for the next few days. I phone Gavin too and have him fly straight to Japan. We meet in Kawasaki and walk the short distance from the train station to the Shinto Shrine. There I ride the iron phallus. We suck on cock-shaped lollipops, parade, and watch a giant pink dildo being rammed through the temple doors. It’s the first fun we’ve had together in a long, long time. We ride the train back to my hotel and practice some ramming of our own.

  And we get our wish, not for one child, but two. Skye and Catherine… okay Kitty… okay Kit, I name our little girls. Gavin just shakes his head bemused by my choice of names. You see, I told him about Sky. How could I not? Gavin’s response was live and let live. Why muddy waters over something that his made us who
le again and brought us so much content?

  I send Sky a picture of the twins, addressing it to him at the host bar in Japan. I don’t anticipate a response, but I long to share my great joy. A memory stick comes back. It contains a short video, twenty-four men toasting my two little girls. Sky is not among them, but there is a message from a man named Angelo.

  Sky has gone home. Maybe you see him in UK, and say hello from me.

  About the Author

  Madelynne Ellis has a healthy obsession with a certain Japanese rock-star, drinks decaf out of preference, and likes scaring the wobblies out of people at gothic horror weekends. Now an award-winning author, Madelynne began writing in 1996 after escaping the Hotel California, the nickname for the parasitology laboratory where she used to work. Her first novel A GENTLEMAN'S WAGER was published in 2003 by Virgin, Black Lace, for whom she wrote several other titles. She has since worked with Mischief HarperCollins, Samhain, Total-E-Bound, Ai Press and Spice Briefs.

  Madelynne's aim is to deliver scorching character-driven stories that enchant, torment, and don't shy from the darker aspects of life.

  Madelynne lives in the UK with her partner of twenty years, their two adorable children and a chocoholic rabbit. She enjoys hearing from her readers, and can be contacted at madelynne@madelynne-ellis.com

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