Milky

Chapter 3 - Lunch

That week some of the men started asking me to go with them at lunchtime.  From the way they asked it I realized that they did not mean to eat but to have sex at a nearby hotel which existed for just that purpose.  I refused out of hand; I had a rule about not getting my personal and work lives confused.  It also dawned on me that I had seen most of the PAs going off at lunchtimes occasionally.

“But some of them are married,” I said to Reika, “why to they go?”

“It is good for the team,” she replied, “and the men give you money.”

“They do?  That’s prostitution.” I was shocked. “How much do they pay? Do you do it?”

“About 15,000 Yen.  And sometimes I go, maybe once every two weeks, it is good for morale and then I can but a nice scarf or a pair of designer shoes.”

“Well, I won’t!” It did explain how a PA like Reika had designer bags and the like.

“They are betting as to who you will go with first!” Reika was giggling again.

I went and complained to my boss, but he just shrugged it off. Mr. Takashita was an older man, very patrician and had always been scrupulously polite to me. I was sure he would take my side and tell them to stop pestering me. He just calmly explained to me that I should not say no to my colleagues as it was bad for team spirit and company morale.  Part of my job was to deliver superior analysis and part was to help keep up the morale by being part of the team in his department.  I was horrified: he was asking me to prostitute myself, for the good of the trading team.

“And Miss Sato tells me you like Japanese men,” he continued, “so I do not see a problem.  I do not want to discuss this again. That is all.”

It was ludicrous.  I went back to my office in tears.  Reika had told him something. For the rest of the day everyone left me alone, I was so ashamed. How could they humiliate me like this?

I was furious with Reika on the way home. “What did you say to Mr. Takashita? He thinks I would to this kind of thing.” I started crying again.

“Suzi, I just told him that I did not think you had anything against Japanese men.  You clearly don’t.” Reika put her hand round me to comfort me. Despite my anger I was grateful for a human touch.

“You must not fight it,” she continued, “you cannot win. You will be shut out from the team and will receive bad appraisals. It will not be good.”

Bad appraisals? I was being blackmailed: prostitute yourself or watch your career disappear. I realized I did not understand the Japanese at all.  Even though I was now near fluent in the language I was nowhere in understanding the culture. I wanted to run away but there was no place to hide.

For three more days I held out. I concentrated on my work and ignored the men asking me to go with them. I looked in vain for any kind of sexual harassment policy: the company did not even acknowledge the concept. But my three month appraisal was due in four week’s time and I was still ambitious enough to want a good one.  Perhaps if I could finish the year and transfer home with good reports then I could get a job at another firm: a non-Japanese one.  Maybe an American company with dealings in Japan so that my language skills, developed at such personal cost, could still be useful.

I finally accepted an offer from a trader about my own age.  He was good-looking in a Japanese way and had always spoken to me in a reasonably polite way. So many of them just spoke to you as if being a woman and a foreigner made you beneath contempt. We went to the nearby establishment which had the mawkish name of Peach Blossom Hotel. The room was bare and functional with a wash area and a futon style bed and a couple of chairs near a tiny table.

We each folded our clothes on a chair.  I was hideously embarrassed as I took off my pantyhose, bra and panties. When I turned to face him my hands were over my bush and my breasts. He was already erect. His penis was not particularly small either: as big or bigger than most of the guys I’ve known. I turns out that the myth of Japanese men having smaller cocks is not entirely true.  It is more the case that there are fewer really long ones, but there are a considerable number of really thick ones.

The sex was rough and functional.  I had never been with a man who was less than gentle. He grabbed for my breast and really mauled them. While my boobs are not particularly big they are quite a lot larger than those of most Japanese women; that stereotype does seem to hold.  He even pinched my nipples till I squealed out loud.

He pushed me to my knees and shoved his prick in my face. I began to kiss it, trying to be cooperative so that he would be less forceful.  Soon though he pushed it into my open mouth and holding my head started to facefuck me till the head of his cock banged into my throat and I began to gag.  This didn’t stop him though he just kept slamming it into my poor mouth; my jaw ached in no time.  I was crying and my make-up was running down my face.  I wanted to die.  He kept calling me a ‘whore’ (Saseko!) in Japanese, over and over.

Soon he had me on my back on the futon and was fucking me while gripping my already aching breasts painfully hard. I had no lubrication and my pussy was soon very sore.  I made to mental notes: 1) I hoped his dick was sore too and 2) next time bring lubrication.  At no time was contraception even discussed, he just assumed I was safe to fuck.  Fortunately I was still on the pill, having been too indecisive to stop taking it when I left college. Thank God he came pretty fast.  He rolled off me and stood up staring down at where I was lying, now curled up on the bed, and sobbing quietly.

“Next time I will want more,” he said brusquely, taking cash from his jacket pocket and tossing it on the bed.  I went to the wash area and while I washed myself he dressed and left without another word.  I sobbed as I held myself open and tried to sponge his sperm out of my bruised vagina. I dressed and picked up the money from the soiled bed, feeling more humiliated and debased than I had thought humanly possible.

When I got back to the trading floor there were several traders gathered round the young man who was clearly bragging.  Everyone seemed to stare at me as I made my way to my little office.  Reika came in with a cup of hot green tea. I was pathetically grateful. At least someone was on my side.

“Are you OK?” she asked solicitously.

“Not really,” I replied and weeping recounted a brief summary of the encounter.  “At least he had to give me 15,000 yen,” I finished with.

“I don’t think he cares,” Reika responded, “he just got 300,000 yen.”

“Three hundred thousand?” I did not understand.

“That is what the pool stood at for who would get you first: five thousand yen each from every man in the trading group.” Reika seemed genuinely sorry for me.

“Everyone?” I was shocked. “Even Mr. Takashita?”

“Every single one,” my friend replied, “Japanese do everything as a group.”

I spent the rest of the day in a state, unable to come to terms with being the subject of an obscene office pool bet.  At least that was over for a fortnight, or so I thought.

When the next day I was propositioned by another man I batted it away with as much grace as I could muster: him and the next three guys. Reika had said once every two weeks and that was enough for her.  Fortunately the weekend followed and Reika and I went off and spent my illicit earnings (and some more besides).

On the Monday more guys hit on me and I declined less politely.  I’d already been groped by my subway admirer and did not need to get any closer to Japanese men, thank you very much.  Even the Monday morning manager’s meeting had been an ordeal.  Although I could see no sign of my colleagues treating me differently, though I was sure they all knew.

A little later Reika appeared in my office. “You must accept: they expect it.”

“But you said every two weeks…” I did not understand.

“I do it every two weeks or even less because I am Mr. Takashita’s PA. I am protected by him.  The other women are expected to do it when they are asked, unless their boss specifies otherwise.  When a new woman comes she is always more popular.  It stops after a while; even traders cannot spend 15,000 yen every day. You must accept, it is good for the team.”

“But I can’t. No. So many have asked. It isn’t right.” I was babbling.

“You do not have to do more than one per lunchtime,” Reika said as if it would reassure me, “unless you want to.” I stared at her as if she were insane.

Still stunned, I accepted the next man through the office door: Mr. Minamoro.  Thankfully he was Mr. Takashita’s deputy and so older.  He was gentle with me and spent a long time exploring every inch of my body. I think I was the first Western woman he had been with. He was fascinated with my heavier breasts and my very curly pubes: apparently Japanese women mainly have straighter hair down there. When we lay on the futon he went down on me and licked my still slightly sore vagina.  I had never been sucked by a man so skillfully and soon was overcome by an unexpected and intense orgasm, much to my embarrassment and his amusement. Mr. Minamoro just continued sucking, licking and fingering until I had a second climax.  I had a third while I was fucking him, which he wanted with me riding on top of him, upright and facing him. He was staring fixedly at my bouncing breasts.

Afterwards I was not sure which had been more humiliating: being raped by the first man or being putty in the hands of a fellow, if more senior, manager.  Either way, I bought a whole box of condoms and a big tube of lubricant on the way home. The chemist smiled knowingly; I suppose to him all Western women are sluts.

The next morning as I was dressing, Reika stood in the doorway to my room. “Don’t wear the pantyhose, wear stockings instead.”

“But I am already wearing them,” I said stupidly.  “Stockings are more work.”

“But they will look better on you,” Reika persisted, “and you should wear thong panties too, not those big things.”

Suddenly it dawned on me: Reika was not there just to be a flat mate, she was there to represent the company, to encourage me to behave.

“Reika,” I said slowly still holding my nearly-on pantyhose, “who lived here with you before I came?”

“Why no one,” she replied as if it meant nothing, “Mr. Takashita arranged the apartment.  The company owns the lease and I pay rent to the company. Your rent is part of your overseas allowance I believe.  I used to live with my parents.”

“Oh, I understand now.”

“Understand what?  And hurry up and change or we’ll be late for work.”

Obediently I put on a garter belt and stockings and slipped on one of my two thongs. It wasn’t worth fighting. Thank goodness it was a Tuesday; I’d hate to think what the subway groper would have made of this underwear.

By Friday I had been to the Peach Blossom with five different men and had earned 75,000yen, which was more than $800; and it was all tax-free. But I really had earned it. The manager from Monday was an exception: most of the men liked to be forceful and some were just plain rough.

Tuesday’s trader wanted to fuck me in every position he could think of: missionary, doggy, me on top, spoons; you name it or imagine it and he wanted it. I got tired just from all the permutations.

Wednesday’s wanted to fuck my ass.  The Japanese seem to have an obsession with bodily functions and anal sex is just something they almost all want. Later I realized what a miracle it had been that none of my first three guys had wanted me that way. I don’t think I ever had three guys again in a row who didn’t demand it at least once. Fortunately I had tried it a couple of times back in college and I did have my lubrication.  Even so it was agonizingly painful as my partner was not at all gentle. By the time he had finished I felt as if I were torn back there. I walked slowly and gingerly back to the office.

Thursday and the trader wanted me to deepthroat him. I had never managed this and did not really want to try but my partner was determined and kept facefucking me and banging his quite long 7” cock into the back of my mouth. I kept gagging. I think I would’ve thrown up except that I have never found that easy, even when I am quite unwell. Then suddenly, as I swallowed to keep the contents of my stomach down, his cock hit the back of my mouth and suddenly it was in my throat. I’d swallowed him. Perversely I felt a twinge of pride as I realized I’d achieved it. Having managed it once I realized how it worked and managed it again and again. But it made me really sore: my throat was raw, my jaws ached, my lips were puffy and my face felt bruised from where he kept slamming into me. He came twice in my mouth before he was satisfied both times watching to see that I swallowed his goo. I had only swallowed the stuff once before in my life when a boy in college came in my mouth in like three seconds flat. I can’t say I liked the taste much and the texture is pretty gross. By the time I got to the office he must have told quite a few as they were staring at me to see if I looked different. Apart from the puffy lips I thought I had repaired the damage pretty well. That evening I was so hoarse I could barely speak. Reika bought me ice-cream and I swallowed it painfully but thankfully.

Friday’s guy wanted deepthroat followed by anal. Despite the fact that both these poor orifices were still sore from the previous days I managed. I even felt proud I could keep it up even though I was humiliated and constantly on the verge of tears. At last it was the weekend.

Reika and I went out and blew all my earnings. I bought us both a pair of designer shoes. I realized I really wanted her to be my friend: to be on my side and not the company’s. The rest, at Reika’s suggestion, went on high-end underwear: garter belts, stockings, bras, thongs and even a couple of g-strings.  I did not resist: I needed her approval; and besides I could not go on with just two thongs.

I knew what was happening to me was wrong.  But it seemed normal to everyone I knew in Tokyo. And I could see no way to escape without losing my career. I could only endure it.