He looked to the beauty for an explanation of this performance. She smiled with half her full mouth and stepped closer to him, stopping by the side of his chair.
“They try to help you. To make you big.” She took his rod in her right hand and slowly massaged. She remained clothed but as she coyly stared at him, the memory of her taste returned to his tongue.
He watched the scene before him, reeling with conflicting responses. He definitely wanted to fuck each and every one of them, partially to prove he could. But their maternally inspired intentions touched him and his curiosity took over. How far would they go to make him grow? And how big was “big” to them anyway?
He refrained from informing her that the five inches of tumescent manhood she held was maximum size. Better to wait and see what she planned to do with it.
The perfect-titted young woman spoke to the beauty and he caught the word Americano. The beauty did not answer. Instead, she continued the slow, sensual hand-job and whispered to him.
“She says all things in America are very big. She does not believe you are American.”
“Well, you can tell I’m American from my accent, can’t you? Anyway, how big do you think I should be?”
He knew he sounded manic and that she wouldn’t reply. The beauty straddled his lap. Little pink portions of her exposed sex poked out from her thick bush, which he instinctively reached out to stroke. He located her firm, slippery clit just as she slid her hot cunt over his now throbbing dick.
She still wore her lacy overshirt but he could see her full titties bounce as she rode him. His fingers worked wildly at her clit, spreading juice all over his palm. With his free hand, he grabbed a handful of tit flesh and squeezed.
He lifted his hips to ram her with the same intensity she used to fuck herself with his love stick.
“Neh, neh!” she called out as he jammed himself into her. She threw her head back and held onto his shoulders, continuing to slide him in and out of her hot, wet hole. In and out, faster and faster, she slammed down onto him until she cried out, again with sounds and words unfamiliar to him.
Holding back his own eruption was excruciating, but he had to show these women he could please them. And he would fuck all of them if it were the last thing he did.
The beauty whimpered and collapsed, burying her head in his chest. He caressed her damp back through her shirt.
“Let me fuck your friends now,” he whispered.
She grinned knowingly and dismounted. (He’d always found that “fuck” was a word internationally understood.) The three women, still playing with themselves, devoured him with their eyes.
He rose and staggered to the woman whose ass was spread so provocatively for him to sample. He grabbed both ass cheeks and leaned into her, sliding his cock along her creamy pussy lips. She moaned and wiggled, now frigging herself without any trace of inhibition.
He stuffed himself into her quickly and began to pump her hard. The other two women moved to stand on either side of him, both of them within arm’s reach.
As he fucked the gorgeous ass, he reached for the pussy of the young woman while she continued to play with her own tits. The zaftig woman offered one of her monster melons to him. His mouth was drawn to her waiting nipple as if he needed her nourishment. She pushed her huge tit into his face as he suckled her.
The beauty stood in front of the faceless ass woman, holding her steady as he fucked her, sucked an enormous tit and fingered a slippery snatch.
The young woman burst into a powerful orgasm, her clit twitching in his hand. Zaftig, who’d been beating her own meat as he sucked her tit, began to wail as her body shook in its surrender to pleasure.
His resolve gave way to the imminent explosion now brewing in his balls. The pussy he fucked suddenly gripped him urgently, spasming around his cock. The woman squealed and pushed her ass into him recklessly. He pumped back with the same abandon.
His come shot into her at warp speed. He couldn’t stop fucking her! He pumped and pumped; she yelled louder. Her cheeks shook with every thrust. Finally, his dick twitched with unmistakable surrender and he knew he’d given his very last drop of jizz to this gorgeous ass.
The woman dropped to her knees and fell into the beauty’s arms. He wobbled backwards into the chair.
His head spun with sublime exhaustion as he watched the beauty cuddle the woman he’d just reamed. The beauty’s eyes penetrated past his psyche and into his soul. As she caressed the satisfied woman, he felt he caressed them both. Through her grounded but surreal presence, he touched both women, snuggling, nuzzling, and purring into them.
The young woman announced something in Greek after consulting her watch. The zaftig one stepped toward him, heavy breasts swinging freely. She ran her fingers through his hair and smiled at him as if he’d just won the spelling bee. Then, she bent down to kiss his cock.
“Bravo, Americano!” she whispered and floated away into the villa. The young woman grinned, winked and followed her. Beauty helped the woman to her feet.
Both of them appraised him fondly but the woman with his come inside her suddenly blushed and scampered into the villa.
The beauty approached, picking up his pants as she passed them. At his chair, she deposited the garment into his lap, grasped the arms of the chair and leaned forward to kiss his forehead.
“You are a special man,” she cooed with that devastating half-smile. She ran the tips of her fingers along his cheek.
“Husbands are coming,” she added.
He held her hand against his face and kissed those incredible lips, savouring their fullness in his memory before he returned to his own villa.
Fugu by Bianca James
Dedicated to the ghost of Itami Juzo
I came to Tokyo in the Year of the Snake, with the vague intention of doing research for my doctoral dissertation. When my informant fell through, I was left with an expired student visa, and over a thousand dollars in debt. I took a job waitressing at a seedy hostess bar in Kabukicho called Papillon.
Kabukicho was a hot bed of sex clubs and mob activity, but the bar where I worked paid well and let me drink for free, and booze was about the only thing I cared about at that point.
The thugs who frequented the bar were known as chinpira. The chinpira wore cheap suits in hideous shades of purple, red, and yellow, their hair teased into frizzy orange perms. They were low-ranking yakuza, missing teeth and bits of fingers. They were lecherous and rude, never tipped, sprayed me with spittle when they insulted me in torrents of Osaka-tinged Japanese. They never seemed to make it past the age of 30. I didn’t mourn when I found out that certain individuals had been busted by the police. There would be a fresh wave of over-eager 18-year-olds in less than a weeks time.
Daisuke was 35, hovering somewhere towards the middle of the yakuza hierarchy. It seemed improbable that a yakuza of Daisukes calibre would bother to penetrate the cramped confines of Papillon, but it was also difficult to believe he had ever been a chinpira. Perhaps the seven years he’d spent in prison had refined him, his jail cell like the proverbial oyster lovingly polishing the secret pearl tucked away inside.
Daisuke’s fingers were long and slender, fully intact, though he was missing the small toe from his left foot. He wore a full body tattoo concealed beneath his cream-coloured linen suits, carp and dragons inked in lurid shades of red and blue. He was soft spoken and polite, and I had to repeatedly remind myself that this was an evil man whose money came from murder and extortion. I knew about his obsession with fucking white women. I knew he had come for me. I did not care. I graciously allowed him to pay my debts, wine me, dine me, and fuck my brains out. One does not mess around with the yakuza.