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Subject: {ASSM} (REV) Turning Japanese 1/3 by Rachael Ross (M+/F, F+/F, BDSM, Rom,  Kitchen Sink)
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Date: Sat, 03 Oct 2009 13:10:02 -0400
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Turning Japanese
Story Codes: MF+/F, Reluctant, Coercion, Sperm Fetish, BDSM,
Bestiality, Humiliation, WS, Etc
The true story of a young American businesswoman who is transferred by
her company to live and work in Tokyo. Once there, Jennifer Cassidy
quickly discovers that even an MBA from Harvard can't prepare her for
the vulgar and misogynistic culture of Corporate Japan. The beautiful
executive finds herself humiliated, debased, and eventually 'sold' to
a Japanese nightclub specializing in BDSM and ritual perversions that
innocent Jennifer could never have imagined.

Copyright 2009 Rachael Ross all rights reserved. Intended for Adults
of All Ages Licensed by Bound For Glory Productions in association with 
Severe Discipline Ltd.
Not packaged for individual sale - See End User Agreement for Export
Restrictions Photograph courtesy Jennifer Cassidy used with permission 
In Case of Emergency: rache696@yahoo.com   
http://www1.asstr.org/~rache/index.htm

======================-+

Turning Japanese (Part 1)
by Rachael Ross


When my company transferred me to our Tokyo office as part of our
cross-cultural management integration process, I wasn't looking
forward to it. I was a 25 year old woman, fresh out of Harvard with my
MBA and, truth be known, I was looking forward to settling down.
Working 9 to 5 and maybe even finding a boyfriend. I'd been so busy
during college that I hadn't had much time for dating, even though I
am very attractive and had plenty of offers.

My appearance makes me really stand out in Japan. Beyond the obvious
of being a white American, I have shoulder length blond hair, blue-
green eyes, and firm breasts, C-cups which fit my well-formed body
nicely, but seem almost ponderous compared to the average oriental
physique. My ass too, is nice and round, standing out from most
Japanese girls, who seem to have no ass at all. I'm taller in Japan,
or so I like to say, and being five foot ten puts me quite literally
head and shoulders above the women I work with. I have great legs that
I've always been proud of and one good thing about Japan are the
fashions, they really are on top of it in Tokyo. I like wearing short
skirts and nice tailored blouses and blazers. Appearance is everything
sometimes and even more so in Japan.

I have had a lot of strange experiences here. One of the first was
riding the Tokyo subway system. The trains, both above and below
ground, are extremely efficient and extremely crowded. Japanese men
seem to take a perverse pleasure in these circumstances, using the
crowded conditions to excuse their desire to feel up any woman who
catches their fancy. For me it became a daily exercise in self-
control, as I quickly became aware that not only was it very impolite
to get angry and display emotion, but also quite useless. Venting on a
Japanese man usually only got me some very cold and unsympathetic
looks from everyone else, even old women and children. The man himself
would studiously ignore me.

Of course not reacting also invites more and bolder advances, so it
becomes a real no win situation. It can be very humiliating, even
degrading, and at first I was nearly driven to tears by it. Now I just
endure it, keeping my body still and trying my best to ignore what is
happening, but this isn't always possible. If I'm to be completely
honest, I have to admit that after several months of such treatment
I'd learned to find some small pleasure from it as well, although even
now that's only rarely the case and depends on my mood. 

Just for an example, a few months after I arrived, when it was still a
quite warm September, I was riding the train and it was crowded as
usual. I wore a short cotton skirt, no pantyhose, just some panties
underneath. A plain cotton blouse and a light blazer. I stood in a
corner, and not near the doors unfortunately, but at least I could
look out the window, when I felt someone rubbing my thigh.

I just ignored it and the hand was going back and forth, a little
higher as the train rocked until I felt the fingers brushing across my
panties. The hand turned sideways, pushing a little so that I would
spread my legs. I thought I'd resist, but he was insistent, and
obedient in my desire to avoid what I knew would be a useless
confrontation, I shuffled my feet slightly and gave the stranger the
access he desired. He rubbed my slit through my panties for a few
minutes and then, inevitably, slipped his fingers inside the leg band
to touch my smooth, shaven mound.

Such things don't usually excite me, but sometimes they do and that
day I could feel myself getting damp. I felt him pushing his fingers
inside me, my labia clinging to him as he worked slowly in and out. I
just leaned against the window and shut my eyes and soon I was getting
very wet and the Japanese guy, whose face I still hadn't seen, brought
his fingers to my ass then. For whatever reason, the Japanese are
fascinated with anything anal. He started pushing his wet fingers into
my ass, making me gasp very softly as my muscles reluctantly gave way.
It didn't feel bad though and he fingered my ass for several minutes
before the train came to a station.

I didn't look around as people came and went and I assumed the
Japanese guy who had been fingering me would still be there, but
instead I was surprised a moment later by some very different fingers.
If I had to guess, I would say that some other man had been a witness
to the whole thing and after the first guy had left, the voyeur had
jumped in to take his place. His fingers were thicker and he wasn't as
gentle. He probed my vagina for several minutes and then I was very
surprised when he took my hand with his free hand and pulled it back
so I could feel his exposed penis.

This had happened a few times to me, but not very often. More often
during the cold months when a man could cover himself with a coat. I
played with his cock, feeling it not too hard, but thick and warm, and
we masturbated each other until he suddenly came, spurting all over my
hand, wrist and the back of my legs. I felt slightly disgusted at that
point and I blushed as I wondered how in the world I was going to
clean myself up. My stop was coming soon and I'd literally have to
push my way through the crowd to get out. I ended up wiping myself on
my skirt, being as surreptitious as I could. The man had stopped
fingering me as soon as he came and I never did see either of the
men's faces.

Another thing that I found unusual in Japan are the lunches. I learned
very quickly that it is not uncommon at all for Japanese businesswomen
to prostitute themselves during their lunch hours. At first I was
shocked at this and then even more so when one of the Japanese men who
worked in my department suggested we get a hotel room for lunch. He
was willing to pay me 10,000 yen, about a hundred dollars for the
pleasure of my company. I refused of course, but the offers persisted,
and not just from him. It seemed the men in the company had made some
kind of betting pool as to which of them would bed me first. I found
it insulting and I reported it to my supervisor, an older Japanese man
who had struck me as a fair and reasonable fellow.

He surprised me when he told me that I should not say no to my fellow
employees because it was bad for the company spirit. We were a team,
the man said, and I should help do my part to make us successful. I
was so put out by this, really very discouraged, that I took a few
days off, calling in sick. When I came back to work my supervisor
wasn't pleased at all and while he didn't mention my lack of providing
my sexual services specifically, he did make it very clear that he
would file some very adverse comments about my performance if my
attitude didn't change. I was being blackmailed, it was plain as day,
and there was nothing I could do about it. The company had no sexual
harassment policy in Japan. I'm serious, it just did not exist.

I ended up accepting an offer from one of the supervisors in another
department, who at least was good looking. He took me to a hotel that
rented rooms by the hour called 'Happy Moon Love' in English and I'll
tell you quite frankly that it was the most brutal sex of my life up
to that point. I felt like I was being raped and I wondered why he was
acting the way he was. I'd come willingly, albeit somewhat embarrassed
since everyone in the office would know by the close of business that
I'd agreed to prostitute myself.

The room was small and had nothing but a thin futon on a traditional
tatami floor. Once inside the room we undressed. I was a little shy
because I hadn't been with a man in almost a year and I knew this guy
hardly at all. My Japanese still wasn't very good at that time, and
his English was marginal at best. Once I was undressed I turned around
and saw him standing there stroking a surprisingly large penis. Like
most Westerners I'd imagined that oriental men were generally small in
the penis department, but this guy certainly gave lie to that. It was
a solid seven inches long at least and fairly big around.

I wasn't exactly sure what I was doing, if I should just lay down or
what, and I smiled a little nervously as he stared at me. Then,
without saying a word he grabbed one of my breasts in his fingers and
squeezed it so hard I nearly screamed. He used it to pull me down to
my knees and I complied rapidly because it felt like he was trying to
rip my tender boob right off my chest. I would have been outraged, but
I was too busy being frightened, if that makes any sense. It was just
so unexpected and beyond my experience that I had no idea how to deal
with it.

He pushed his cock at my face and soon had his hands in my hair,
pulling me onto him. I'd never really been into sucking off my
boyfriends before and so I felt very reluctant to be doing it for a
guy who was little more than a stranger to me, but he didn't care. He
held my head and basically just fucked my mouth. It was almost painful
as he tried to get me to open my throat so I could deep throat him. I
was choking and gagging as I sucked him noisily, my hands pressing
against his thighs, and then finally he caught me just right and his
cock seemed to pop into my throat. He slid all the way down, until his
hairy balls pressed to my chin, and he held me there like that for a
good 30 seconds or more. My eyes were watering and my throat felt sore
and bruised. I sputtered and retched a little when he pulled back,
gasping for air until he did it again, and it was only slightly easier
that second time.

He fucked my throat for awhile, talking to me in Japanese and laughing
occasionally. It did get easier as I learned how to control my muscles
a little, how to let him enter me so it didn't hurt so much. But
basically he was just raping my mouth and I felt deeply ashamed while
he did it. I was crying and had my eyes closed nearly the entire time.
This seemed to amuse him though, and I've found the same to be true
with many different men since that first time. They really like to
feel that thrill of power over a woman, especially an American woman,
I think.

At least he didn't cum in my mouth like I was afraid he would. Instead
he put me on my hands and knees and fucked me like a dog, pushing his
cock roughly into me and I was grateful that his cock was so wet from
my mouth, because my pussy was very dry. It still hurt quite a bit. He
stretched me very quickly and made me cry out, which of course was a
sign to him that I wanted more. I also became aware of the fact that
he wasn't wearing a condom and of course I wasn't on the pill or
anything. I had no reason to be until that afternoon. I tried
breathlessly, gasping the words between his thrusts, to tell him that
he would have to pull out. That I couldn't afford to get pregnant.

I didn't know then if he understood me or not, but I realized quickly
that he had no intention of pulling out of me. Instead he grabbed my
arms, literally pulling me back onto his cock as he leaned backwards,
so we were joined and balanced on our knees, fucking like that. I
couldn't have gotten away from him if I'd tried. It was both painful
and humiliating, being caught with my wrists bound in his surprisingly
strong grip. My arms ached, my shoulders especially as he would pull
me hard against him, stabbing his cock inside me like a blunt knife at
the same time. He was inside me deep enough so that his cockhead would
find the bottom of my sex, the tenderness of my cervix, and it was
like being punched between my legs. I rallied against the pain and
discomfort, and begged him again to stop, to pull out. I'd even suck
him if he wanted, I promised between gasps and groans. I'd let him cum
in my mouth. I'd even swallow his orgasm, which was something I'd
never done nor wanted to do, but I'd do it for him if he would only
please, not cum inside my pussy.

It was no use. I felt his cock jerking and he held me tight to him as
I became aware of a flood of warmth filling my womb. His cockhead was
right up against my cervix and it actually might have felt really
good, if I hadn't been cringing and softly weeping with despair. I
knew I was ovulating, there was little doubt, I was right in the
middle of my cycle, two weeks from my next menses. His sperm filled me
and he must have been saving it up, because there was a lot. When he
finished he just got off me and dressed, not saying anything. He
opened his wallet and withdrew ten thousand yen, dropping the bills
carelessly on the floor and leaving me there. I felt so sorry for
myself. I just looked at my pussy, stretched and sore and leaking the
guy's sperm, and I felt little incentive to move.

When I arrived back at work, late of course, there was a lot of
smiling and bowing by the men I worked with. The women largely ignored
me, but the guys, they were happy because I'd finally put out. The man
who'd first propositioned me, Kenji, told me he wanted me the next
day. I felt numb and embarrassed and I just nodded. It was humbling to
realize that I'd basically become a part-time prostitute for my
company, one of the Fortune 500 that I'd been so eager to join. 

I did file a complaint to the VP of Human Resources back in the United
States, not saying specifically what had happened, I couldn't bring
myself to do that, but generally informing him of what seemed to be
corporate policy regarding women here in the Tokyo office. The reply
came back that the company would look into the matter. I never heard
another word about it and I realized that Japan could do whatever it
wanted. That was the price of doing business over here.

I wish I could really tell you how humiliated I truly was, especially
when I went to a Japanese drug store and purchased a large quantity of
condoms. I also needed to see a doctor and get back on the pill. I was
more than a little unhappy with myself, because I felt like I was
giving in too easily, just giving myself up without a fight. But what
was I going to do? I needed the job and I was 10,000 miles away from
home. I thought I was doing the only thing I could.

Since that first lunch when I'd had sex for money, I'd done it pretty
much every day since. Except when I had my period and with the birth
control pills I was soon on, my menses lasted only three days and was
usually very light, so often I had sex on those days as well. Japanese
men, some of them anyway, don't mind at all. The one's who did mind
were more than happy to have anal or oral sex, mostly anal, and so
many of them wanted that in any event.

I also found out how easy it is to get an abortion in Japan. I did in
fact get pregnant that first time. It took me three weeks to find out
and I think I already knew it even before I missed my period. I'd
never been pregnant before and I'd grown up with the typical suburban
American romance regarding the subject. I wanted it to be with a man I
loved, a man I was married to. Instead it was a stranger's child. A
man whom I only just barely knew and couldn't even have an adequate
conversation with, if I ever wanted to. I did write him a note,
translating it into Japanese as best I could, and I gave it to him a
few days after I found out.

He was going to fuck me again, paying me for the privilege of raping
me during lunch, but raping me nonetheless. Before I undressed I
handed it to him, watching for his reaction as he read it. He just
wadded it up in a crumpled ball and threw it away, laughing at me. I
was so offended I tried to slap him, but he stepped back and then
surprised me with a sharp punch to my stomach. The man, a division
manager at our company, ripped off my panties as I lay crying and
trying to breathe through the pain. He fucked me, not bothering with a
condom since it was obvious now that there was no need for one. While
he did it, he would abuse my belly, perhaps trying to cause a
miscarriage, I don't know. He pressed on me hard, punched me, and the
whole time just grinned and talked to me like I was a wayward child.

He didn't cause me to lose the baby however, and a few weeks later one
of the secretaries at work who spoke passable English told me she'd
been assigned to take care of my problem. Obviously it wasn't much of
a secret around the office anymore. She took me to a clinic, a very
small one that was conveniently located nearby, and I paid 23,000 yen
for an abortion. It was fairly quick and painless physically, although
inside I suffered terribly. I'd been raised a catholic and I knew
abortion had to be wrong, but I also knew I could never keep the
child. It was another all-time low in a series of them.

In addition to being a prostitute during my lunch hour, I was soon
initiated into the social responsibilities I was expected to perform
after normal working hours for my bosses, usually when they wanted to
impress an executive or two from another corporation. Apparently it
was some perverse point of honor that my boss could provide a pretty
gaijin woman for his dinner guest's pleasure. This was often
accompanied by some of the most humiliating and degrading experiences
of my life. If you can imagine it, I performed it, sooner or later. I
do not know if these men, supposedly the cream of the Japanese
business community, were actually into such perversions, or if they
were just warped by the potential abuse of an American woman,
something they deemed a genuine luxury.

One of the first times, I was dressed very nicely and attempting to
entertain a vice-president for a large Japanese bank. There were two
dozen of us, 12 men and a female companion for each of them, at an
exclusive and private rest house in Tokyo. There was a dinner
provided, a bath house, some bedrooms. It was basically a place for
Japanese men to take their mistresses and have all the comforts of
home.

The other girls were all Japanese and I felt very alone there, being
largely ignored, except when one of the men would eye me with very
obvious sexual hunger. They didn't bother disguising it at all and
while my Japanese wasn't very good, I knew enough of the vulgarities
already to know when they were talking about me and the things they
would like to do.

My corporate VP for Marketing Japan was the host and I naturally
deferred to him in all things, but he surprised me when after we'd
eaten, or I should say the men had eaten, we females didn't touch
anything but our tea, the VP asked me if I was a 'Milky Girl'. I tried
to translate this, as many times what a Japanese person will say in
English has a completely different meaning than what the words are.
Other times it can be very literal. I'd never heard that term before
so I lowered my head and tried to explain to him politely that I
didn't understand.

Well, it seems a 'Milky Girl' is a female with a sperm fetish. This
was definitely not me, but I didn't have very much choice at all. It
was time for sex games, which the Japanese seem to love a great deal.
This one was simple enough, all the Japanese girls began giving their
dates blowjobs. I was a bit shocked at seeing these girls, all of them
secretaries or minor executives, salary women like I was, bending
eagerly, even happily to their tasks. I was not exactly thrilled at
the thought of going down on the total stranger I was sitting next to,
an older man of about 60 I thought, but I started to lower my head to
his lap, only to have him push me away.

I didn't know what was going on. I sat there, rather embarrassed as
all around me women were sucking noisily away and the men talked like
it was just another day in the lunchroom, laughing and commenting on
the women's techniques. When one man started cumming, a large glass,
like a goblet, was used to capture the sperm. This was done for every
man there, except the VP I sat with. We just watched as the glass was
passed around the table from girl to girl. It was filling rapidly, I
didn't really think men made that much sperm. I'd heard most guys cum
just a few tablespoons, or something, but who knows? How many table
spoons are in a wine goblet? Too many, if you ask me.

All I know is that it looked positively gross. A glass full of 8...9...10
and finally 11 men's sperm. It looked like about 12 ounces of jism,
with a thick gooey consistency, pale yellowish and I felt nauseated to
see it. I didn't have a sperm phobia or anything, but this was pretty
far out there to my mind. I was in for an even greater surprise though
when the glass was passed down until it was sitting in front of me
like my desert or something, and there could be no doubt as to what
they expected me to do with it.

I looked at my boss and he just nodded, telling me to drink it in
Japanese. Everyone was staring at me and many of the men and women
were whispering and even giggling. I knew the women were all very glad
that I was there. I had the feeling that a few of those girls had been
in my position previously. I just stared at the glass for a moment and
I felt my boss prodding me until I finally picked it up. I swirled it
around a little and it was so gross. Like cream that had gone bad it
seemed. I could even distinguish between the different men in the
glass, the sperm was layered almost, stratified by consistency. I
looked around, which was a big mistake because seeing those people
staring at me just made my face burn and tears of outrageous
humiliation began to fill my eyes.

With a deep breath I brought the glass to my lips, smelling the very
strong and pungent odor of male essence. It assaulted me physically,
mentally, and worst of all, emotionally. I just wanted to crawl into a
hole and die. But instead I tilted the glass and my mouth started to
fill with lukewarm semen and I gagged at first, unable to force myself
to swallow. I sat there, crying with my cheeks bulging with sperm. My
body was rebelling, my stomach churning, but somehow I managed to
swallow. It was almost painful and I brought the glass to my lips and
repeated the process slowly, taking perhaps 7 or 8 big swallows to get
it all down.

I put the glass on the table and looked down, hoping desperately that
I wouldn't throw up. I held my stomach and didn't move, just hiding
behind closed eyes in that room with all those people. They were happy
with me, laughing and even the girls were speaking gently to me, but I
ignored them. I just couldn't bear to face them. I'd just drank a big
glass of sperm. I was going to throw up any minute. But somehow I
didn't. I just sat there while the meal continued on around me. The
men were enjoying sake and the girl's were allowed to eat small salads
now. When they put the bowel in front of me, the waitress poured a
generous amount of bleu cheese dressing on it, much to my companions'
delight. I couldn't eat it.

After that I became known as 'Milky Girl' around the office, which was
horrible. My supervisor seemed to think it was a very clever pun,
because I was Caucasian, and never hesitated to refer to me that way
no matter where we were. Of course it also meant I had a sperm fetish,
as I mentioned, and I blushed every time someone used it.

My presence at those evening business meetings became more and more
routine as time passed. They were invariably similar in that myself
and any other females in attendance were only intended for the sexual
gratification of the men present. How that was achieved depended on
the men and the mood, but it almost never involved straight, normal
sex. Sperm play was a favorite, most often drinking it from a large
glass and I became somewhat used to it. At least it got to the point
where I could drink it without fear of getting sick. But I always felt
terrible afterwards. I learned that it was best to eat a lot of
crackers or very dry bread before I went to these dinners. It seemed
to settle my tummy a bit better.

One of the worst episodes I had involved bestiality, an idea which had
never occurred to me before. I'd never even seen a picture of such a
thing. I'd never wanted to, although of course everyone has heard
stories of some kind or another. This was on a weekend, a Saturday
afternoon and ironically enough it involved a couple Americans,
although they didn't work for my company. They were the guests of
honor, although such a thing is relative as I'd learned to distinguish
the subtle Japanese art of insulting 'honored' guests while making
them feel complimented.

There were seven men present, the two Americans, and two executives
from my company, and three other men whom I didn't know at all, but
were businessmen with some company or another. I was the only woman
present which was unusual in itself and we were in a rest house near
Ueno, sitting in a garden which was very pleasant. There were several
dogs there, large ones, and I'm certainly no expert, but I believe
they were Boxers, or a similar breed. There were three, all males, and
they were large as I said. Each of them probably weighed as much as I
did, if not more, the head of the largest dog very nearly came up to
my shoulder. The other two were not much smaller.

I ignored them and rather concentrated my attentions on the Americans,
who were average looking in their mid-forties, and not terribly
amusing conversationalists, but at least they were from home. I was
mostly surprised that some Japanese women weren't present, because as
fascinating as most Japanese men found my occidental appearance,
Westerners generally had the same interest in oriental girls. 

When the talk turned to sex, as it inevitably does, my boss was
offering me in his broken English to do anything his guests desired,
speaking of me in the third person as if I wasn't even present. I
looked down and burned with humiliation as he told the men, American
and Japanese alike, that I would do anything. I would fuck, suck,
drink sperm. I was a 'Milky Girl' he said proudly and I literally
shook with embarrassment when he had to explain the term to my amused
countrymen.

"Anything, huh?" one of the Americans chuckled.

"God, I love this country!" the other one said. "Will she have sex
with dogs?"

I jerked my head up as I registered the words and I couldn't believe
I'd heard him correctly. The Americans were staring at me of course
and I think the red on my cheeks was even more amusing to them than
anything else. I whispered, "No." But if anyone heard it, they ignored
my feeble protest completely.

"Dog?" my boss asked and when the American pointed at one of the
animals he nodded and laughed, clapping his hands. "Yes! Yes!" he
agreed and there was a lot of talking and good natured chuckles, but
none of it directed at me. They didn't care what I thought of the
idea.

I knew it was coming, but there was nothing I could do. I suppose I
could have gotten angry, refused and stormed out, but that would have
ended my career completely. My Japanese bosses would see to it I never
did anything more with my hard won and frightfully expensive college
education than manage a McDonald's someplace. It was blackmail of
worst kind, insidious and degrading, and completely unstoppable. My
whole future would be in ruins if I refused, and if I accepted, how
would I ever be able to get through another day? I was crying softly
as I undressed with my back to the men.

The two executives from my company, a couple of assistant vice-
presidents, paid no attention to my distress. "Kimakura-san, please, I
do not wish to do this," I spoke to one of them softly in Japanese.

"It will be good for the company, Jen-san. Good for you too," he
smiled and I shut my eyes tightly.

Once I'd gotten naked, one of my bosses pushed me down, so that I was
bent over a chaise lounge made of teak and satin, with my legs
straight and slightly spread in the most humiliating of positions a
woman could ever assume. Another of the Japanese men had pulled one of
the dogs over by the collar. He was huge and his fur short, chocolate
brown and black. I didn't know what to expect and I was shaking with
nervous energy, almost ready to flee. I'd never even owned a dog, they
scared me a little, especially the larger breeds. I felt his nose
against my sex as the animal was pushed down and Kimakura told me to
spread my legs wider. As I did so I felt the sudden touch of the
beast's rough and warm tongue sampling my vagina from the rear. I
almost jumped out of my skin and one of the Japanese men I didn't know
came over to put a hand on my shoulder, pushing me down as the dog
licked me.

It didn't feel terrible by any means, in fact I almost found myself
enjoying the sensation, especially when he started digging inside my
pussy and scraping that sandy tongue across my clit. This only added
to my humiliation though, especially when I could hear the Americans
laughing about how it was obvious that I was enjoying it. One kept
saying how he'd always wanted to see this and he couldn't wait. He
only wished he'd brought along his camcorder. I thanked my lucky stars
that he hadn't, it was a small consolation though.

After several minutes of being licked I heard them talking about how
the animal was getting excited for me. I was getting damp, despite my
fear and embarrassment, and the dog could taste my sex juices now.
Apparently his cock had begun to swell and one of the Americans
wondered if I'd be able to take it. This caused some momentary panic
because I had no idea how big a dog's penis was, I wanted to look, but
I was afraid of appearing eager. I finally did get a glimpse and
gasped with shocked dismay as I saw what was hanging beneath the
animal's belly. It had to be 7" long and fat in the middle, very fat,
but tapered on both ends with a blunt almost sharp looking tip that
dripped like a faucet. It was big and not even fully erect yet, I
didn't think.

The other two dogs had come around now as well, sniffing and barking
excitedly. I ignored them and the men around me, just wishing this
would all be over. I'd never, ever live this down, I knew. I could
only hope that these men wouldn't talk about it. Or if they did,
they'd at least have the decency not to mention my name. But
reflecting on recent history, that seemed very unlikely.

They finally got the animal to mount me, albeit with some difficulty,
I think, and I had to move my ass a little to accommodate the angle
better. I felt the hot wet tip of the dog's cock stabbing at me as he
tried to find my hole and I let out a high pitched scream when the
animal finally found it and just slammed his entire cock inside me. It
was incredibly painful like that, nothing slow and gentle about it at
all, he sensed he was inside and just started fucking me as hard and
fast as he could.

My scream soon died to a soft whimpering sound as my body just
collapsed under the dog's furious assault. He seemed to have only one
concern and that was filling his new bitch with sperm and making some
puppies. My pussy felt totally abused, being stretched and possibly
even torn around the cock swelling inside me. It fucked in and out so
fast and hard I literally had the wind knocked out of me and I gasped
in time with every jerk of my body beneath the animal's violent
thrusting.

The Japanese man who had been holding my shoulder took out his penis
and started jerking off while he watched and I soon became aware of
all the men doing that. I was crying now, very real sobs from the
unbearable humiliation more than anything else. The pain had largely
gone away after a few minutes and it was starting to feel okay. But
emotionally, I was dying inside. The men were all talking and
laughing, and commenting on how it looked like I was really enjoying
it, although how they could have thought that I have no idea. I was
basically being raped by the animal. His paws were on the lounger, his
heavy chest against my back, pinning me down, and his cock buried
inside me. I could do nothing but take it.

I'd thought the worst was over when the pain from the animal's initial
thrusting had faded away. I was resigned to it now and my pussy was
juicing in response to the stimulation, but then I felt something
else. There was a hardness banging against the outside of my pussy. I
couldn't identify what it was as I had no experience with dogs at all.
I now know it was the knot, the large bulge of muscle that dogs have.
He was slamming it against me until I screamed again, not so much in
pain really, as in surprise when the large, hard ball suddenly popped
into my soaked pussy, stretching my tender sex and filling me
completely.

I arched my back and tried to push myself off the lounger in an
attempt to escape, but it was no use. Every movement I made was futile
at best and worse, it only seemed to move that knot deeper. I was
moaning loudly, weeping and begging for the dog to stop when I felt an
orgasm rush through me. I was completely unprepared for it. There was
no slow building up like there usually is for me, it just happened,
like a tornado out of a clear sky. I was humping that hardness like a
mad woman then, heedless of the men watching, just getting off with a
dizzying confusion of pleasure.

The dog came almost immediately when he realized he'd locked me up,
and then the men, all of them moving to spray their cum on my face as
I lay panting and flushed. They got it in my hair and eyes, and all
over my face and neck. The dog was tied to me, his bulging knot
trapped inside my pussy and he waited patiently. I couldn't move then,
I didn't want to move, I just thanked God it was over. I'd cum, yes,
and that betrayal by my body was bothersome to me. I didn't want to
feel pleasure doing that thing with an animal. I didn't want to enjoy
debasing myself in front of strangers. But I had, and I knew it. And
even more, each of those men knew it.

When the dog's knot had finally gone down enough, he pulled free with
a small flood of our combined juices gushing out of me. I started to
move then, feeling sore and tender, especially between my legs, but I
was stopped. There were still two more dogs and I was yelling then,
protesting loudly, but it was no use. The dogs were going to mate with
me, whether I liked it or not. I resisted to the point where it became
an issue of quitting my job, and common sense prevailed. I'd already
done it once, what difference would doing it again make?

I fucked the other two dogs over the next hour or so, probably longer,
and I was so sore by the end I could hardly move. All of the men had
masturbated at least once more, covering my face with their sperm so
that I was sticky with it. My hair was terrible with thick drying gobs
of cum. I was a mess, barely even human in appearance I thought, much
less the beautiful young woman I'd come into the garden as. There were
girls there, geisha's who stayed there, and though they hadn't been
invited to our little party, now they were called to help me clean up.
They were very gentle, but hardly sympathetic. A geisha is not a
prostitute and would never disgrace herself as I had. I didn't look at
any of the men, or say anything as I was led to a private bath.

I managed to sleep through the rest of the weekend, but I was still
incredibly sore Monday morning when I went into work. I walked slowly
and wore flats instead of heels and no matter how I squirmed, it was
impossible to sit comfortably at my desk. I received a rude surprise
though when I went to our usual 10am Monday meeting and found one of
the Americans there. He was going to give us a presentation and I felt
myself burning hotly as I sat, unable to meet his gaze. Every time I
did risk a quick glance, I caught his eyes staring at me and a smile
playing across his lips. He hadn't known who I was before, probably
assuming I was just some goodtime girl, but now he knew and I would
never be comfortable again. I imagined him going back to the States,
telling his story about me to all of his contacts over drinks,
laughing and then delivering the punch line that I was a marketing
officer for one of the largest companies in the world.

Over time I became aware that I was changing. The outrage and shock
I'd experienced at first were gradually wearing away. I found myself
actually enjoying my lunchtime proclivities, at least with some of the
men. Even the occasional evening entertainments seemed to be less
offensive than they'd once been. I was becoming jaded by my
experiences, my sensibilities becoming inured to the terrible things I
was being forced to do. If I were of a suspicious nature I might have
suspected my Japanese employers were doing this deliberately,
following some sort of protocol to turn me into a sexual toy for their
pleasure and benefit. But my only real thoughts were that I needed to
survive this experience. To get out of Japan at the end of my little
tour and see about restoring my reputation back home. Much of that
would depend on my evaluations though, and it was clear that my
performance out of the office was at least as important as anything I
could do in it.

On my 26th birthday I was treated to a special night by all the male
employees of our department, or at least the majority of them. This
was about 30 men, most of whom I had slept with already at least once.
I really do think that some of them thought they were doing me a
favor, a special honor. Others merely wanted to degrade me more. It is
curious in Japan that there are two lines of thought. One is the
unconditional acceptance of foreigners, and the other is the absolute
loathing of our presence. There is no middle ground it seems, and I
had learned who was who very quickly. The men who wanted no part of me
in the business world, were naturally enough, the ones who liked to
purchase my lunchtime services the most often. Fucking me to
demonstrate their superiority.

My so-called party was held at a private bar, Japanese only. Japanese
men only, to be precise, but for this occasion I was allowed in. There
were several hostesses working there, young and attractive Japanese
women who sang karaoke, served drinks, and offered sexual release to
patrons. Because I was known as a 'Milky Girl' and I'd grown
accustomed to drinking glasses of sperm upon request, it had been
decided to give me a 'bukake' party. I'd never heard of this before,
but basically, as I was to find out, it was a sperm bath. Being
covered with it, usually on the face, and drinking a lot of it. In
addition to the 30 men from my company, there were perhaps a dozen men
or more present who were just the usual patrons.

I didn't know what was in store for me. The men were all nice enough,
buying me drinks, singing, talking loudly and enjoying themselves. I
was even relaxing a little, thinking that perhaps I might have to do
something, but thinking it was my birthday, so maybe this really was
just a time to relax and enjoy myself. I did genuinely like some of
the men and got along with most of them fairly well.

Eventually I found myself sitting in a low chair in the center of the
small bar. There was plastic on the floor beneath me and I wondered
vaguely at that, but I was a little buzzed from the drinks. One of the
girls brought over a strange looking metal pan, like a bed pan almost,
except smaller. It was round and one side was indented with a curve
that went under my chin, so that it curled halfway around my neck. So
I had this stainless pan, perhaps 2 inches deep and 6 inches wide,
curving from ear to ear in front of me. I held it there, not quite
knowing what was going on when the men started pulling out their
cocks.

My eyes grew very wide indeed at that point and I looked around
suddenly understanding exactly what was going on. These guys, nearly
fifty of them, were going to masturbate and cum on my face. What I
didn't swallow, what didn't cling to my pretty face and golden hair,
would drip into the pan I was holding. I had a sickening sensation in
my stomach. This was my birthday party? Getting degraded by my
coworkers and worse, a number of complete strangers? I was even more
disheartened when I saw that most of the men had brought cameras and a
few had camcorders, all to record the event for posterity.

My body felt like it was on fire and I shivered, regretting that I was
wearing one of my nicer business suits. I'd paid nearly 800 dollars
for it only a week before, a special little present to myself and paid
for by my lunchtime liaisons. I knew it would soon be ruined and that
thought, for some reason, seemed almost the hardest to bear. I would
have cried, but I didn't. I made up my mind that resisting this would
only hurt me more. I could hardly stand seeing those men, stroking
their pricks around me like schoolboys at a proverbial circle jerk.
They were drinking, laughing, and joking. I took a deep breath and
somehow managed to smile, inviting them to do it. To masturbate on my
face and spoil me with their disgusting seed. It was a terrible thing,
I know, to have to pretend I was enjoying it, that I wanted it. I
thanked each man as he approached, sometimes standing on tip-toe and
arching his back. They would jerk and throb and sometimes cum would
spew out in a gush of heat, sometimes it would spray hard and thick,
and sometimes just dribble out.

They painted my face for over an hour, some of them jerking off two
and three times. My face was a mask of sperm. My makeup running and
adding color as it streaked down my cheeks. The stuff burned my eyes
and I had tears to mix in with the sloppy sticky mess. But still I
smiled, tilting my head to catch their cum on my lips, chin, forehead,
nose, cheeks, even in my ears, and in my hair. It was everywhere. I
felt like I was getting a facial, a mudpack or something exotic to
make me beautiful, but this was something else entirely. I must have
looked terrible, with all that slimy goo running down into the pan I
held.

It dripped down my neck, staining my blouse and blazer. Onto my skirt
and no matter how carefully I tried to catch it in the pan, some
little bit always seemed to escape. But that pan was getting full. I
had to move carefully as it sloshed inside, so I wouldn't spill the
whole thing all over myself. It stank with the male musk unique to
sperm and I actually smiled a little I think, recalling how that
overpowering scent had once almost made me ill. Now I hardly noticed
it.

I smiled for the camera repeatedly and pushed out my tongue for those
who wanted to cum there, taking the sperm in my mouth and then
spitting it out so it ran down my chin into the pan. I tried to
swallow as little as I could and I found my mouth filling with saliva,
so that I was spitting that out as well, even when I had no cum to
speak of in my mouth. When at long last they were finished, my arms
and shoulders aching from that position I'd been in for so long, they
brought out a large glass pitcher, like a beer pitcher, and I
carefully poured the contents of the pan into it.

I don't know how much the pitcher held, probably a good 96 ounces I'd
guess, 8 big glasses worth, and it was about two thirds full. The
substance looked gross, a pale yellowish mixture of some 40 men's
semen. A girl gave me a large mixing stick and I stirred it around,
smiling for the cameras. Then it was time to drink it. They didn't
give me a glass, instead I would just use the rounded pouring lip that
was molded into the pitcher's rim. I tilted it up, trying to forget
what it was I was drinking, trying to become deaf and blind to the men
who sat and stood around me, filming it and laughing. The girls, the
hostesses who giggled a little nervously, were undoubtedly telling
each other that they would never do such a disgusting thing.

But I did it. I took it down my throat into my unprepared stomach in
one large swallow after another. I would take a mouthful and lower the
pitcher, holding the cooling spooge in my mouth and try to swallow it
without retching. It was rich and nasty, with a texture like snot,
thickening slightly even as it sat there. My stomach was churning, the
sperm settling inside me and making me feel sick, but I ignored it.
Forcing more down and feeling bloated as I swallowed a lot of air as
well. I needed to swallow three or four times just to get a mouthful
down and keep it there. In between I would pause, occasionally belch
and that would bring a slight gag, a little spasm in my body. But the
guys didn't notice, they just cheered me on until I had drank the
entire contents.

I put the pitcher down and closed my eyes, taking short shallow
breaths. I felt like a gutter slut, the worst kind of woman in the
world. I imagined my friends and family back home hearing of this, or
seeing pictures, and I felt the tears coming again. I couldn't believe
what I'd just done, for no other reason than a bunch of perverted
Japanese men had wanted me to. I knew I was changing and as I sat
there, crying with impotent anger and humiliation, I knew it was a
change for the worse.

The bad thing was that no one there, not even my closest friends from
work, understood what I was feeling. They thought I'd enjoyed my
birthday present. That I was too happy to speak or something, and that
incredibly stupid thought made me laugh. Of course that only spurred
them on and I was grateful when one of the girls brought me a drink. I
was still covered with sperm, now drying to a tacky mask and one of
the guys pulled up my blouse, exposing my tummy so they could see it.
In no time I was undressed completely in front of the crowd and
everyone it seemed wanted to touch me. My stomach mostly, squeezing it
as if they could feel all that sperm inside me, but also playing with
my ripe full breasts and spreading my legs to play with my shaved
pussy.

It wasn't long before they had me down on the plastic, with my long
legs spread wide so they could gangbang me. I was so far gone I didn't
protest, I just endured it. It even felt good at times and I had a
number of small orgasms while the men took their turns with me. I was
turned over to give them better access, a couple guys pushing me down
to straddle one man's cock and a moment later someone was behind me,
pushing his penis into my ass. Another cock found my mouth and I had
cocks in each of my hands. I felt like a porn star or something and
the thought reminded me that all of this was being filmed. But I
couldn't do anything about it. When one man came another was right
there with his cock hard and eager. The only time I really moved at
all was to let someone slide out from beneath me so another could take
his place. I was a total wanton slut now, and I pushed everything else
out of my mind.

It was my first gangbang and amazingly enough I was actually a little
proud of myself when it was over. The men were well and truly spent
and I was a mess. Sperm was running from my overflowing cunt and my
ass felt loose and wet, a little sore, but I must have had a gallon of
sperm in my rectum by then. I'd swallowed a lot and I was literally
covered from head to toe with the stuff. I looked like a drowned rat,
I supposed, and I just wore my skirt and blazer home, using my
expensive new blouse to clean myself up a little in the back of the
taxi. The driver didn't seem too happy.

Needless to say, pictures of my birthday party quickly made their way
around the company. It seemed every department had their own album
full of them and it was so bizarre. Japanese are the strangest people
on earth. I was signing autographs on occasion, penning my name across
8x10 blowups of my face covered in sperm, or getting double
penetrated. This was a culture in serious need of something, I didn't
know what, but something. I found it to be embarrassing generally, but
after awhile I largely ignored it.

All that changed though the night I was to accompany a small group of
businessmen to a club in Yokohama. It turned out to be a BDSM sex
club, of all things, and I was very shocked at some of the things I
witnessed there. All of the girls working the club were in fetish
gear, beautiful and expensive PVC and leather of all styles and
colors. I was dressed normally in a conservative business suit, navy
blue with a white silk blouse, and notably the only female customer in
the place. I was escorting one of our company VP's and a couple
business associates he wanted to impress, and I had very few illusions
as to what my duties would include later in the evening. Both of the
executive's guests had already heard of the gaijin Milky Girl who
worked for our company and I'd blushed furiously at the realization
that my reputation was spreading throughout the Japanese business
community. My boss had merely chuckled and assured the two men that
everything they had heard about me was true.

The club wasn't a large one, but such things rarely are in Japan,
where space is at a premium. There was a circular stage raised in the
center of the club and seating for perhaps 50 people around it. As
you'd expect, there were chairs and small tables lit with candles,
tall and thick and made of red wax. It was frightfully expensive to
get in, 30,000 yen each, about 300 dollars, but my boss didn't even
flinch. There was no charge for me. Like most clubs in Japan, if a
woman was allowed to enter at all, then her admission was free. Once
inside, it was an open bar. You could drink as much as you liked at no
charge and there were numerous small snacks available. But the real
interest was in the stage shows, which were 15-30 minutes long, with
intermissions between, and featured almost any kind of light BDSM you
can imagine.

I played with our two associates at the silent urging of my boss,
exposing their cocks beneath the table and massaging them both as I
sat close between them. I was doing my part for the company's image
while we waited for the next act to begin on the stage. I didn't know
what to expect and I'll admit I experienced no real curiosity. My
knowledge of BDSM was superficial at best and I had little interest in
it. But then there occurred something interesting. Two men dressed in
the traditional dark gray of theater stage hands were bringing out a
smaller girl.

She looked to be in her mid-twenties, but seemed to me exceedingly
fragile and very pretty. She had a youthful quality which led me to
regard her as a child, rather than the young woman she obviously was.
She was nude but for a pair of handcuffs dangling from each wrist and
she wasn't yet bound in any way. The girl stood silently in the middle
of the stage, lit by spotlights from above, and the two gray men had
been replaced by a woman. She was offering a short riding crop for
auction in a sharp, sing-song voice. Naturally enough, I suppose, many
of the Japanese men present wanted to see the American woman whipping
the girl and while I can't say for certain who had bought the crop, it
did eventually end up in my inexperienced hands.

Of course, I'd never done anything like that in my life and as I took
the crop and swished it through the air, I was reasonably sure it
would be very painful to be struck with it. The woman, a hostess
dressed in black leather from head to toe, chained the girl to a pair
of rings hanging by chains from the ceiling. She wasn't gentle, but
the girl made no sound and she soon stood with her arms spread and
high above her head. Her back was to me and to much of the audience as
well, and the hostess beckoned me onto the stage and told me to begin.
That was the extent of my instructions and I swallowed hard, feeling
nervous and more than a little self-conscious. I gave the girl a few
strokes across her wonderfully pert ass, gentle ones because I had no
interest in hurting anyone, least of all a girl so much smaller than
myself.

The Japanese men watching were unhappy with that however, and they
were urging me with loud voices to really hit her. I whipped the girl
a little harder, but not very much. It just wasn't in me to do that
sort of thing. After a few minutes the girl looked over her shoulder
impatiently, as if to ask me when I was going to start and I blushed
and lowered my eyes.



end of Turning Japanese part 1
rache696@yahoo.com

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