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 fish, 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.