Chapter 1

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Mult, Reluctant, Coercion, Drunk/Drugged, Lesbian, Heterosexual, BDSM, DomSub, FemaleDom, Humiliation, Sadistic, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Sex Toys, Bestiality, Water Sports, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Caution, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Jennifer 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...Yeah, it's a romance.

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.

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