Strings Chapter 6. Japanese Deviation

Strings Chapter 6. Japanese Deviation

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Walking into Motown after a three week absence, the bar staff pouring my drink without my asking, expat regulars welcoming me with open arms and familiar little huddles of flirty Nipponese smiling. There would always be newcomers too, some were occasional drinkers resident in Tokyo but many were visiting businessmen. Dozens of nationalities and occupations mingled and pulled, or pushed through the long narrow bar to the latest beats of global rock, pop and rap. I loved the place and moved freely through it. The greater Tokyo metropolis of the Kwanto had over thirty million inhabitants cramped into miniscule apartments and hotel rooms. We expats and expat attracted Japanese may have lived ten miles and ten million people apart but Motown was our watering hole.
This series has been completed and is now a published novel.


Walking into Motown after a three week absence, the bar staff pouring my drink without my asking, expat regulars welcoming me with open arms and familiar little huddles of flirty Nipponese smiling. There would always be newcomers too, some were occasional drinkers resident in Tokyo but many were visiting businessmen. Dozens of nationalities and occupations mingled and pulled, or pushed through the long narrow bar to the latest beats of global rock, pop and rap. I loved the place and moved freely through it. The greater Tokyo metropolis of the Kwanto had over thirty million inhabitants cramped into miniscule apartments and hotel rooms. We expats and expat attracted Japanese may have lived ten miles and ten million people apart but Motown was our watering hole.
This series has been completed and is now a published novel.


Submitted: August 29, 2015

A A A | A A A


Submitted: August 29, 2015



Since commencing correspondence with Cute Little Pixie I had maintained other connections too, these were mostly a few email conversations and one of them, a polish woman was keen to meet to see if I was ‘ze man to tie up me’. We were to meet at lunchtime at a restaurant at London Waterloo station. Despite several emails confirming the arrangements she no-showed, and I had wasted about three hours of my day. Though she wanted to re schedule I deemed her unreliable and lost interest. The only other activity in January was a rare meet up with Claudia for mutual oral sex in an anonymous motel. It was verging on mandatory and boring for me, my mind was elsewhere, it was obvious Claudia would also be Pole-axed out of my life.

Me: What did you think of the PA’s Tale? 

I received several blank messages from Pixie until one arrived with her real name displayed. She was Silvie Carney. She’d made the same mistake I had with Lady Samantha, sending an email with her personal details accidentally attached.

Pixie: Hello - I'm not sure you are getting messages from my mobile....did you get the last one?  I enjoyed the PA’s tale, the second half was better and I particularly liked the end about going out with an invisible crust on her face. I don't care if it’s nasty or disgusting to enjoy that kind of story - it is sensual beyond any ridiculous advert for sexual pleasure

Me: I just got 3 blanks in a row, then your last Vault message that you were sending the email directly, which I also got. Hello Sylvie!

Pixie: My name revealed.

Me: I thought you'd like the crust, it’s based vaguely on a true occasion. Your name and nasty habits are secret with me.

Pixie: I thought it might be, or else how would you know what it felt like? I’d like to know what happened.

Me: She was Japanese

Pixie: Hence bukakke?

Me: She was a delightful outcome of my working in Japan.

So I told Pixie/Silvie a little about Mariko.  How the first crustation was in England when she visited me. We had been apart two or three months, and I hadn't had a release for three weeks. After the pub the sex that night in my living room was full of passion and intensity even though it was straight forward vanilla missionary and mutual oral. She was lying on the rug when I came heavily around her mouth and across her top lip. Afterwards she immediately lolled into a deep sleep. Jet lag and a little drunk the poor thing crashed out.
I was dozy too, drink and sex culminating in a powerful orgasm will see to that, but when I stirred awake just a few minutes later I saw her olive skinned slender body stretched out, relaxed and asleep. Jet black hair and eyelashes, stunning high cheekbones and the prettiest lips I’d ever seen; she was the ultimate sleeping beauty.  I picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, gently putting her to bed. The big globs of my ejaculation were still semi liquidy on her face, mostly accumulated pornographically just beneath her nostrils, which drew in air over the pearly deposits. It was erotically satisfying to see her fine facial features decorated bukkake style, so I didn’t clean her up and soon fell asleep next to her.
In the morning I woke first, and saw the glob had desiccated to a thick crust, like an elongated solid bubble across her top lip. I got above her and wanked a second fresh load, also thick and creamy onto the stale old stuff. Even then she didn't properly wake up, just rubbed her nose and rolled over back to sleep.
Silvie liked the story, she said it was very cute and intimate and accepting. The way it should be. Then she asked, ‘What happened to your relationship with her?
This question was trailing into territory I preferred to avoid, our correspondence had run to the early hours and I allowed the natural breaks as we nodded off to delay answering her.
The unwelcome territory was my lingering affections for Mariko, and some raw emotions about losing her.
* * *
Mariko had been the pinnacle and culmination of my revelationary explorations in Asia, from lithe saucy Orientals to horny keen expats my wheels of fortune were places like JJ Mahoney’s in Seoul, The Giraffe Bar in Manila, Hong Kong’s Joey Bananas, the Ritz in Hanoi and the Hard Rock Café Beijing. But Tokyo was the real deal, and its hub were the bars of Roppongi: Geronimo’s, Mogambo’s, Castillo’s, Gas Panic and at hub central, the worlds’ greatest bar; Motown.
Walking into Motown after a three week absence, the bar staff pouring my drink without my asking, expat regulars welcoming me with open arms and familiar little huddles of flirty Nipponese smiling. There would always be newcomers too, some were occasional drinkers resident in Tokyo but many were visiting businessmen. Dozens of nationalities and occupations mingled and pulled, or pushed through the long narrow bar to the latest beats of global rock, pop and rap. I loved the place and moved freely through it. The greater Tokyo metropolis of the Kwanto had over thirty million inhabitants cramped into miniscule apartments and hotel rooms. We expats and expat attracted Japanese may have lived ten miles and ten million people apart but Motown was our watering hole.
And with those smiling Japanese girls I was aware of the ‘Motown Map’, a real time gossip network of who was with who, who had a one night stand, who betrayed who, who was a bastard and who was a ‘nice guy’. Following any encounter with a member of a particular gossip pod my assumption was the groupthink opinion of me was uniform. So if I was inappropriate or stupid in some way with one I risked the pod’s ostracism. Some guys like to work their way through girls to meet their most attractive friends, but I thought that was a high risk strategy.
Trying to be the nice guy, the interesting foreigner who is also flirty and fun was my method and though it inhibited quick wins it tended to yield more fruitful successes.
‘Where you come from?
‘What hotel you stay?’
These two questions quickly established your credentials on the Motown Map.
I was a Brit, which was good as far as being English speaking, but often a poor fourth place in the attractions stakes after Americans, Australians and Canadians. I found this a lot in Asia, typically when the questioner was trying to gauge the likely generosity of my tipping. However I worked for a global branded company, which was good, and stayed in the Capitol Tokyu Hotel, nearby and famous for accommodating western musicians - including rock stars, and this tallied high marks as it reflected a man with a good job, career and income.
I met Yumiko. ‘You me go!’ she had explained. She was very pretty, with an hour glass figure which was unusual for a Japanese. There was nothing doing at first and the second time I saw her she was with a much more attractive friend.  I went on Motown Map alert and did not switch my attentions to the more desirable friend.
I got to know Yumiko’s whole pod as I tried to develop things with her and discovered that her friend was not only prettier and sexier, she spoke better English and was much more fun. She also passed my drinks test which Yumiko had ominously failed.
I buy a girl a drink, and happily buy another, then I wait. Even if I finish my own second drink first I wait till she finished hers. If she doesn’t offer to buy the third, I will but that will be all. In my books she is only after free drinks and a good time at my expense. If she offers the third drink I would happily still pick up the tab - I wasn’t stingy, just making an assessment.
Yumiko never offered to buy me a drink and she never offered her hourglass body either, and oftentimes she was puzzlingly unavailable to go out. It didn’t feel like a relationship and it didn’t look like a relationship was forthcoming. I was in a fix because I was very attracted to her friend, Mariko, and would often run into her once or twice during my business trips to Tokyo, but Motown Map concerns prevented a callous switch of affections.
One trip I had doggedly called Yumiko several times to null response, but I was working long hours that week so it didn’t matter as I hardly went out at night. Then on Thursday evening Mariko called me on her ‘handy phone’ and asked if I was going to Motown because, ‘Friday is a national holiday so tonight is party night.’
An hour later we were sat on bar stools pushed close together in a heaving Motown, and after a while I asked why was Yumiko was so difficult.
‘Because she is seeing other guys,’ was the abrupt answer.
So it wasn’t a relationship.
Yumiko failed the drinks test and Motown Map and ‘Yu mi went’. Thereafter when I was in town I frequently found myself chatting to Mariko, and as the months rolled around into winter we were often the last two of our group still in the bar. It would still be crowded and we were physically close together. It was intoxicating until suddenly, around 2am, she would tap both open palms on my chest, give me a heart stoppingly beautiful smile and say, ‘I go home now, see ya, ja ne,’ wave and be gone.
This happened several times and on each business trip to Japan I would ask her if she would like to come back to my hotel, and each time she declined, each time with a beautiful smile.
As my feelings for Mariko evolved from merely amorous to a real attraction I stopped chasing other women, not just in Tokyo but everywhere. The cyclic change in my lifestyle was underway, after a period of unrestrained casual sex I was falling under the spell of monogamy again.
Except once.
I had arrived in Tokyo for a week’s work straddling the weekend, had seen Mariko and walked her to the Roppongi Crossroads taxi rank where she cheerfully chimed ‘bye bye,’ and hopped into a cab.
The next night in Motown I met two Finnish air stewardess, and they invited me back to their hotel in another downtown area called Shinagawa. You can imagine what went through my mind as I sat in the taxi between these two bombshells with white blond hair. They looked how Hollywood’s central casting department thought a Finn Air stewardess would look.
In Hannah’s room we drank white wine and talked and eventually her voluptuous friend who was reminiscent of Dianna Dors before she got fat, said it was time for her to ‘Leave us to it.’
Some sort of signal must have passed between them that my radar completely missed.
No blond sandwich then, so I settled down with the more slender and short haired Hannah. We kissed and caressed on her bed, I undressed her and then she purred approval when I took my shirt off. That had never happened before, nice little ego boost - my workouts had paid a dividend at last. But as things developed OG would not co-operate with the condom so it was lots of oral sex. She loved it, I loved it and I flooded her pale Nordic face with a spray of heavy thick sperm. She (and I) loved that too.
Hannah was single, had an affair with a married man back in Helsinki, who had left his wife to be with her. But after a few months he left Hannah to return to the wife. This had been a recent event and left her feeling very rejected.
The Finnair crew were only in town a couple more days and I didn’t see her the next night in Roppongi. The following night I ran into Mariko and her friend Eriko early on. They were going to ‘salsa salada,’ I didn’t know if that was food or dance. Whatever she was trying to pronounce she promised to teach me to dance.
Reluctantly I went with them. I am a natural granddad at the wedding dancer, what’s more the place was too well lit, and thus my awkwardness was visible to the surrounding highly dextrous and nimble Nipponese.
Uncomfortable and bored I asked if she wanted to stay, and for how long. She stretched her toned bare arms above her head and pirouetted before me flashing another big Mariko smile, and said she would stay till midnight and then go home.
I said I wanted an early night and was heading for my hotel. So I left and as I passed Roppongi Cross decided to pop into Motown for a last drink. It was packed with multi ethnic partiers. Half way down the long bar, sat on bar stools the heads of two white blondes shone like twin lighthouses.
Voluptuous Dianna Dors and Hannah welcomed me to join them and pretty soon Dianna moved off to one side somewhere. Hannah and I flirted and drank for an hour and when I mentioned the facial I had given her she said ‘I like it’.
Oh my word, I was going to have some fun.
Half an hour later I nonchalantly looked around and saw Mariko entering the bar. Panicked I said to Hannah, ‘I’ve just seen some one, got to go,’ and I left her dumbfounded with both our drinks,
 I surprised Mariko, and keeping her at far end of the still incredibly crowded bar I explained I had seen an old friend and had popped in for a quick drink.
‘Okay’, she tilted her head and smiled and added, ‘I just want the bathroom first.’
Whist she was in the ever lengthy queue for ladies I had time to return to Hannah and stupidly, selfishly and heartlessly said, ‘I had to speak to someone I have wanted to see for a while, I am single now and she’s very pretty.’
Hannah looked incredulous at my explanation.
And I left her again.
Ten minutes later, and with Mariko still not back from the ladies, Hannah departed Motown in a flood of tears, consoled by Dianna Dors. Dianna looked hard into my eyes as they passed, and I have never received a more withering look from a woman in all my life.
I felt small, cheap and utterly ashamed.
Five minutes later Mariko returned, I bought her a last drink until she said ‘I go home now,’ and she too left.
Eventually I exited Motown and walked down the hill from Roppongi Cross the kilometre or so to my hotel in Akasaka. As I reflected on myself, all I could think of was, ‘You Cunt.’
That was me, an absolute cunt.
It was 1 a.m. when I reached my room, I decided to call Hannah, looked up the hotel telephone number and successfully recalled her room number. They put me through and I apologised unreservedly. No excuses, nothing else, just really sorry how I had treated her.
She said it was okay and would I like to come over to her hotel!
‘I want to have sex with you again,’ she explained.
I didn’t expect that.
I taxied over, and struggled a bit but found her room and by 2am we were in bed together.
The next morning we said goodbye, as Finnair were flying out that evening. I was glad I didn’t run into Dianna Dors again, but amazingly Hannah apologised to me, saying her emotions were still raw after being rejected by her married man. Me dropping her like a stone to see Mariko had re ignited her tears. I couldn’t believe how gracious she was.
I still felt a cunt though.
I was not actually going out with Mariko, that wasn’t for a couple more months but I had crossed a line, not just in pickup bar etiquette. I had crossed an emotional line of my own, I felt I was being unfaithful to her. Of course I had not even kissed Mariko yet so in a physical sense I had not betrayed her, but I had betrayed my feelings for her. Hannah was the only time I was unfaithful spiritually or otherwise to Mariko, and she had no idea what had happened, I suppose I got away with it, but it confirmed something important. I was falling in love with her.
  It took a year from my very first encounter with Mariko to our first kiss. It was August 1997 and I had two more trips to Tokyo and spent every free and barmy Tokyo evening with her, until one night at 2am I walked her with our arms linked to the taxi rank at Roppongi Cross. At the broad pavement at the corner we unlinked our arms as she stepped towards the first taxi, and I asked once again, ‘Would you like to come back to my hotel?
Mariko paused, her pretty eyes looked at me and she astonishingly said in her casual singsong voice, ‘Okay’ and linked her arm in mine again.
I walked down Roppongi Hill with her by my side, reaching the Capitol Tokyu Hotel in fifteen minutes of increasing sobriety.
Once in my room we shared some Asahi beer from the mini bar and then made love. She was shy, she was demure and incredibly sensual, and I was at my most gentle and tender. Her coy lips, high cheek bones and those dark full almost manga style eyes with long black eyelashes, I had never kissed anyone so beautiful, and when her jet black hair fell over her toned olive skinned shoulders I thought she looked heavenly. I loved her limbs, her firm trim bum, her waistline and the small but perfectly formed tits; which all combined into a slender body tanned from the Japanese sun.
During our lovemaking I went down on her. The shiny dark hair on her head that had beguiled me so much, also shrouded her ‘pussy chan.’ I parted her pubes and then the labia revealing the red hot inner lips. Mariko got the full cunnilingual treatment and she came in shuddering near silence, just a couple of uncontrollable gasps escaped.
At the start she hid her mouth and nose behind a hand – a very Japanese gesture, the women are very reluctant to reveal their smiles. But as the tension built through her body she began to bite on her knuckle.
When the explosion came she contained it with straining not to make any noise and hiding her face behind both hands.
As the ripples of her orgasm subsided I rolled on top of her, easing her clamped legs apart again and entered her body, slowly into that cauldron between her legs. We fucked slow and fast, hard and soft, missionary and side on until OG was ready.
No condom, so I withdrew just before OG pumped streams of juice as far up her body as I could reach, which was her delightful tits.
Of course we couldn’t do the sleazy western thing and fall asleep with wet patches and jism smears, she got us both up and showered. Then we slept.
I awoke to bright sunlight through the curtains and the squawk of large black Tokyo crows circling around the trees in the hotel garden. I stroked and kissed her awake and we talked about jobs, she was a bank clerk; and family, she was a widow with a teenage son; and about the people we knew in the multinational social whirl of  Roppongi night life; the ‘Motown Map’  of shifting relationships and one night stands. Then she said.
‘May I ask you a favour?’
I thought, here we go, could she have a free ticket on British Airways to visit London.
‘Yes, of course.’ I replied.
‘Will you eat my pussy again please?’
Mariko always knew how to surprise me, and I took to my task with relish. It took ten minutes or so and this time she bucked and writhed and moaned a bit more but it was all very modest.
Our budding sexual relationship turned this woman who was nearly forty years old into a ‘Teenager again’ she said. She had known several boyfriends and a husband but had never had an orgasm from someone else’s attentions until me.
I saw her again over five days in September, and was not due to return to Japan until November and then she told me she was to have an operation in October, to remove a benign tumour.
Back in England I pondered what was happening to me, and called her a few times. With typical Japanese reticence she didn’t give me any details except the dates when she would be in hospital.
When she went in, I realised what she meant to me and rang her friend Eriko to find out the name of the hospital and with some investigation on the internet got the telephone number. When I called the receptionist spoke a little English and put me through to the right part of the hospital but the wrong ward. That call was answered in Japanese only and I struggled to be understood, but eventually a doctor came on line who spoke English. He put me through to the right ward, but Mariko was asleep and I couldn’t speak to her, so I left a message. Apparently that left a big positive impression on her.
We were a couple, and friends scattered around greater Tokyo and all over the world, regular business travellers to Japan and apparently all the members of Motown Map heard about it before I saw her again in November.
Mariko did take to sex like a teenager just discovering its wondrous sensations. Sometimes she would wake me up in the bright Japanese mornings, beneath crisp clean sheets with a long slow blow job. I loved her blow jobs – she took me to places I hadn’t experienced before. Her mouth was wide enough to accommodate OG comfortably and she would often stop ‘giving head’ the up down nodding of most blow jobs and just hold OG, filling her mouth, and then wriggle her tongue on his underside, the hyper sensitive frenulum. She could make me explode that way. Whether the cum filled her mouth or she let it squirt over her face first, it drooled and pooled with her saliva all over OG and my balls, and then she would smear it around with her tongue, licking all around my genitals, the inside of my thighs and around my perineum. It was one long extended tingling series of mini orgasms. Shangri La.
When we fucked her preferred position was on top, the ‘frog’.
She woke me one morning slurping at my cock and then moved up, and sat on my face. She was only 52 kilos and she squatted on me with Asian flexibility. I would lick at her for a few minutes but she would eventually take over thrusting her pelvis back and forth rapidly, with one hand modesty covering her gasping mouth till she climaxed.
 She would move down to straddle OG and after a few little humps she would say ‘I like my style’ and raise herself up on her haunches, squatting up and down slowly on me. All the way in and out, one hand on my chest the other alternating between cupping her breast or covering her mouth. Often I would struggle not to cum inside her, and even turn my mind to non-sexual thoughts to control myself. Eventually she would get ready for the orgasm and do the same rapid pelvic thrusting, clitoris jamming movements. She would cum in a shuddering mouth clamped silence, and then fall backwards, her knees fully bent, a hard OG forced backwards and still inside her.
I would wriggle from under her and scramble on top trying to keep OG in place, this was difficult for the clumsy western Gaijin. But I would get there and make love to her, building up to my own massive release, usually with her knees held up in the crook of my arms, then a quick extraction and I’d shift up the bed. She would open her mouth and lay out that fabulous tongue and I would spray her, tongue, mouth, lips and nose. Once, memorably, her nose was coated and a bubble of cum expanded and contracted pleasingly from one of her nostrils as she breathed.
There was more to vanilla fucking and sucking with Mariko. A previous, American boyfriend had wanted anal sex with her and she asked me if I wanted to do it. I later learned she had thought anal sex was normal and she didn’t particularly want it. The offer was Japanese politeness.
Well we did it, in a sideways approach I would go down on her licking her clit and lips and probing her vagina, after a few minutes I would extend the licks downwards along her perineum and then around her anus. Licking from above the hood of her clitoris and down around her ass I would occasionally flick into her anus, each time a bit deeper, and always adding more spit and vaginal juice. I would add a fingertip, gently inserting and withdrawing between the licks, and gradually push in to the first joint, then add a second finger, probing and pushing a little deeper. She would groan and spread her legs wider and wider. I would add an index finger from my other hand and eventually a fourth finger was inserted, all up to the second joint. He pussy was sodden wet and heaving as I pulled the four fingers slightly apart, gaping her ass.
She was ready, and so was OG.
I would move around and mount her, fucking her pussy-chan long and deep and then pull out, roll her over and begin to slowly enter her doggy style, anally. 
 It was very slow, I would hold her hips so did didn’t pull away, it did hurt her but gradually I eased past the muscle and she loosened up. When I was in to the hilt and stroking in and out she would meet my thrusts, saying, ‘More deeper Jack, deeper, deeper’.
I could feel her anus lubricating, I didn’t realise it could do that, and I would fuck her till she screamed an orgasm. Then I would pull out to complete ass to mouth style.
Once I did this after we had been apart for over two months, she had dieted down to 48 kilos. Losing the lovely small breasts in the process.
I met her on a hot day at Roppongi Cross, she was deeply tanned, and wearing heels and a tight fitting orange mini dress that almost matched her skin tone. She was radiantly made up and had flowing long thick black hair and looked fabulous, I think I might have gawped at her.
After an Italian meal at Capricciosa’s and drinks in Motown during which I had established she was wearing nothing else beneath that dress, we retired to the Capital Tokyu hotel. And then I discovered she had shaved.
We made love with a new intensity and when the anal sex started I began to swap OG around from hole to hole to mouth. When she came, it was hard, sprawled on her front wriggling furiously and screaming, actually screaming! She pushed her face into the pillows to stifle the screams, bucking her bottom hard back onto my pelvic bone.
I came deep inside her anus, and rolled off.
Cum slowly oozed out of her onto the sheet.
And as expected the sheets had to be washed as well as both of us before sleep was permitted.
Though this experience was intense and satiating, something put me off. She had extremely narrow hips and a small peachy hard ass - and was very slender, her limbs were tiny compared to mine, her pussy was bald, and her breasts had disappeared. OK, her nipples, labia and face still portrayed a mature woman but suddenly the semi starved forty year old’s body looked akin to a pre-pubescent child. I felt uncomfortable, it was a look I didn’t like in a woman and certainly I had never entertained young girl fantasies.
Mariko had to put back the missing kilos and become a woman again.
Our love affair didn’t blossom, it boomed, Mariko’s sexual awakening included tiny hints of threesome sex with her friend Eriko. And then once in a taxi sat between them Mariko gripped OG through a jeans trouser leg demonstrating his girth to a suitably impressed Eriko. And eventually one quiet evening in Motown I bought both girls a drink and we sat around a table, we were all chatting and smiling. I was finessing the opportunity towards this threesome goal when suddenly some British ‘lad’ bulldozed into the conversation saying. ‘How come one guy has got two lovely girls?’ and we were no longer in our bubble of three but back in the Motown Map, he had broken the spell, the bastard.
I hate guys that barge into situations uninvited and ill informed, but even more I hate the slime balls that try it on with a girl the second the boyfriend turns his back. This happens all too often I suspect but our women don’t want to tell us for fear of a scene. With Shannon when I was visiting her in the US we talked to a guy at a bar, he was another Brit, a bit arrogant and public school I thought. As soon as I left for the washrooms he asked her, ‘Do you fuck around when Jack is out of town?’
And another Brit in Tokyo who worked at the embassy and whom I had met through work persistently invited Mariko out behind my back. The shaven headed, deeply tanned cad wore strong coloured shirts and always a white suite and would pass his ‘meishi’ business card to her with a view to a date whenever I was away. No wonder so many foreigners think the Brits are duplicitous.
The ultimate in all this for me was the so called best friends, note the plural, who fucked my wife behind my back when I was away working on oil rigs.
Don’t tread on another man’s shoes is a worthy motto, I failed on occasions but was never so blatant and callous and these assorted assholes.
But my threesome Nipponese fantasy took a step closer when Eriko and her ‘friend’ a married Japanese salaryman came over to Mariko’s for dinner.
As always Mariko over catered and eventually we were all stuffed and more than a little drunk, except salaryman who had to get home.
I had arrived late and was still in my suit when he left. I sat on the sofa with Mariko next to me and Eriko facing us still sat at the dining table. Mariko did her ‘feel the girth’ move on OG who dutifully sprang to attention. Unprompted she then unzipped and exposed me. Seizing the moment I was instantly completely naked, at my hardest and proudest in front of two well-dressed lovelies. I motioned Mariko to kneel in front of me, and suck OG.
‘Why don’t you take a picture?’ I suggested to Eriko.
So Mariko handed her camera to Eriko explaining its operation in Japanese, then she returned to her position at my feet and Eriko snapped away.
The threesome wasn’t to be, Mariko did instruct Eriko how to cup my balls and wank my shaft with her cool hands, and she had to remove Eriko’s cigarette to do so. Unfortunately Eriko had an aversion to sperm and declined to join the pretend game of learning how to ‘suck dick’, though she did kiss OG just beneath the glands. I did however get Mariko quickly stripped despite giggly protests and carried her into the bedroom. Laughing all the time she attempted to cover her mouth, tits and pussy-chan with her hands as I entered her. She did protest too much because her pussy-chan was the wettest I had ever known it. Eriko wouldn’t strip or join in but was also laughing as she clicked away with the camera and moved around the bed and then on top of the bed wobbling around us, sometimes kneeling looking inexpertly for good action shots.
I long stroked in and fully out of Mariko trying to present penetrative views like a porn star, despite her best attempts at modesty. Then with all the thrashing about we destabilised the mattress and our fornication ended in whoops of laughter as Eriko lost her balance on the bed and fell on top of us. OG popped out and Mariko successfully closed her legs. We were all a bit too drunk, OG quickly went floppy and Eriko was soon fast asleep, so no threesome but an awesome and fun experience anyway.
Over time between the sex and partying Mariko showed me around Tokyo and then parts of Japan. We holidayed in Okinawa, visited Osaka’s massive black castle and the ancient temples and the sophisticated gardens of Kyoto. We climbed Mount Fuji seeing sunrise simultaneously with the raising of the Hinomaru flag as the national anthem played. We travelled by Shinkansen bullet trains north and west, and soberly strolled the peace park around the A-Dome of Hiroshima. She accompanied me on several trips to Beijing, Seoul and Manila, we holidayed in Turkey and the Med, and she frequently visited me in England.
It was all too good to be true.
Then British Airways began the process of selling off my division, which had two interconnected unforeseen consequences. My division was being split up and sold to different buyers, my job was soon to be over. How would we stay together?
The first consequence and a surprise was being head hunted by United Airlines, my income took a step change increase, and my career would continue, but without the guaranteed regular trips to Japan. The second consequence was therefore to ask Mariko to marry me, and she accepted.
I flew to Japan and we met the British Embassy people, thankfully not the cad in the white suit who would probably exact a price for granting Mariko emigration.
But the marriage plans were still born because three months into my new job and September 11th 2001 wrecked everything; world peace and my future life. Jettisoned without any compensation I was jobless, without income, nor any means to support an immigrant bride. Perhaps white suit cad man would have been useful.
Immigration application failed.
Marriage plans scuppered.
They even demolished the Capitol Tokyu Hotel, it and all those fabulous memories turned to dust.
I didn’t want to share any of this with Silvie.

* * *
30th January 2013

Me: Good morning Silvie and sorry I missed your reply last night. I worked around the far-east for a decade, the second job in that time took me to Japan almost once a month. That's when I met her, we stayed together in an intermittent way for years. Then September 11th happened, I lost my airline job ten days later. It wasn't a good time. That was many years ago, and life always moves on. I would like to know where your inspiration comes from. I am partially available today, leaving for London soon, Jack xx

I wanted to move away from my history as quickly as possible without appearing weird, and take the conversation back to her background.

Silvie: No problem I'm not usually so prolific on email but I was up late writing. I think it's probably a good time for me to state my current position as you at least appear to be open and straightforward (I'm guessing that from your considered writing style as of course I don't know you). I am in a relationship and have been on The Vault just to explore what and who is out there. You may now think I'm a bad person and dishonest. At least one of those is true. My partner moved away 3 years ago and I have only seen him at weekends for the majority of that time. Eventually I got lonely, frustrated but I love him so stuck it through. I woke up one day after a very filthy dream in which I came and thought 'God I've got to do something about my frustration!'  Why The Vault?  It just came up in a google search.  Why BDSM? I don't really know what it entails in real life, I haven't and won't read any of the popular submission literature, all I can say is that I have what I suppose is a dirty mind. I love sex, I love the mess you can make, I love the sound the smell the taste......
I'm at work so I’ll leave it at that for now, and anyway my current relationship status may turn you off. I hope not.

Wow! I had not only successfully changed topic away from me to her, but she loves the mess, smells, taste of sex, this girl was affecting me in ways I hadn’t experienced before. What’s more, she wasn’t looking for a long term serious relationship, she was already in one. She was another lonely frustrated wife, but was she married? And what did she look like?
But now I knew her name.
So I googled her and scrolled down a short list of several UK Sylvie Carneys. Two were in Bourneshire, one of those in Bridgebourne and the other on one of the offshore islands. I clicked and viewed the public version of their respective Facebook pages. The Bridgebourne girl was a student, too young, pretty enough but I was sure she wasn’t impersonating a thirty seven year old. The islander was the right age, but the only photo was of her head and shoulders, taken outdoors with a hat and scarf obscuring most of her face. There were hints of prettiness, nice eyes and a cute smile, but I couldn’t tell the shape of her face, see her hair or get any idea if she was fat or thin. She said she was petite, a slim 34A. Was it her? OG wanted to think so.

Me: Hi Sylvie Thanks for your longest mail yet, your status is not a problem, I am not at all interested in a new serious LTR either, I am looking for a friend with benefits I guess, and those benefits I think you know about. Be assured I will be very discrete if anything develops between us. I would love to talk further, but am in a rush. If you want to text - I will send my mobile number. Warm and sticky regards.

As I rushed to the station I wondered if she would she swap mobile numbers. And once on the train I continued to focus on the new information she had imparted to me. So I wrote another email. 

Me: I am on a train, just re read your email, and now I have a 'boner' like I used to get on those long haul flights. I need to think about something else before I get into London. I can't recall if I told you, I am circumsized, I have an average six inch length, (nudging towards seven inches on a very good day), but do boast exceptionally thick endowment (hope your mouth is not too small!), plus very big sperm laden balls. Pulling into Clapham Junction, running out of stops, have to think about libraries or something.

Silvie: Sorry about that, I thought it was pretty restrained compared to your stories! I'll leave that for now. P.S I guess if my mouth doesn't open wide enough you'll just have to force it....

Me: I enjoyed the distraction, perhaps you can send me a photo just of your mouth.

That evening I went to the gym, locker number one was taken so I had to shift along to locker number three. Suddenly an email came through to my Blackberry. Half undressed I opened the message, it was blank, with an attachment. I opened that - it was a photograph. The little screen was filled with a picture of a woman’s open mouth, red lips and a flat tongue with a mix of clear and white fluid on it, a white string of the stuff looped from the inside the top of her mouth to the mid point of her tongue.  Jesus!
My heart momentarily palpitated, instinctively I understood this was THE woman. She understood me, and I understood her.  I sent a quick message.

Me:  That is one sensational image!

A little shakily I got my gym gear on and closed the locker containing the Blackberry with a photograph of a woman’s sperm filled mouth.

I worked out trying to blank out images of bukkake, my balls were alive, OG was a coiled snake threating to spring out of control the moment my imagination overwhelmed my logic. The battle of the bulge in my thin gym shorts was a mental one, and if the outcome went a certain way, it could have been a workout of cringing embarrassment. Nearly an hour later I trooped downstairs back to the changing rooms, I switched to my trunks with locker number three open and noticed two more messages.
Silvie: Glad you like the way your cock sounds delicious.....I can taste that thick, sweet, silky head already and the little bubble of salty pre-cum...I think I'm going to have to play with myself in the bath.

The second message was another taunting sperm filled open mouth photograph from Cute Little Pixie. This time with two white loops between tongue and teeth. In the sports centre’s spa I alternated sweaty lounging in either the hot sauna or the steam room with cooling relaxation in the pool and jaccuzzi, but my mind was buzzing. After the spa I returned to the changing room, there were no more Pixie photos, but locker number three was my new favourite.

Me: I love these pictures, you are doing special things to my groin. And you can send as many as you like, (other body parts too).

That evening I sent another message to her

Me: Your luscious lewd mouth deserves a present.

And attached my photo of Old Glory in repose, the one Claudia and Jen had liked.

Silvie: Oh yes?  What will it be?

Me: did you not get the attachment?

Silvie: Oh god I'm salivating.  Didn't see that first time......

31st January 2013

Me: Just to let you know, the images of your sexy mouth were on my mind all night. Eventually I had to take matters in hand. Dolops of cum inspired by your red lips and taunting tongue.

Silvie: I am flattered. I couldn't resist either.....I came so hard I nearly broke my back.

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