About the author: I'm a twenty-something from Europe, writing short stories and narrations (erotic and non-erotic) for several years.
About the story: A longer narration of mine deals with certain Japanese elements. To get in the mood for a sequel, I wrote this short story.
The box had arrived just in time. Nakamura's two "gentlemen" went to work unloading it as soon as the garage's roller shutter had closed behind the inconspicuous white delivery van. One of them I knew by name: Tanaka, a ridiculously muscular bloke in an ill-fitting jacket. He was beyond any doubt capable of dragging the box alone. Hence his scrawny new colleague was rather latching onto the wooden crate while it was pulled out of the van.
"Will she be missed?"
"Not in this country, Nakamura-san. A European tourist, wanted to discover Japan on her own – away from that all-inclusive stuff."
Nakamura's face kept its emotionless expression: "She will indeed gain insight into some interesting facets of our culture, I can promise that."
Once the box stood on the concrete floor, the van was dismissed. Although on my payroll, the following was none of the driver's business. With the gate shut again, I beckoned Tanaka to grab the crowbar.
"There she is..."
Only the base plate had survived Tanaka-san's crowbar-assault. Draped on it – and I was delighted to rightfully use the participle "draped" – was my latest merchandise.
Please allow me to introduce myself at this point: I'm a freelancing trader of and trainer for private companions (persons of a more indiscreet disposition might use the term "sex slaves"). My dear Nakamura-san here represents a client with whom I had at least a dozen lucrative business dealings over the past three years. Today Mr Nakamura will inform his client about the conditions of another transaction – after checking the quality of the goods, of course.
The three hundred kilometre trip inside the stifling crate would have been much easier on her if she were nude, but that would send out the wrong signal. So her body had suffered the last six or so hours inside a tight – and I mean tight – black latex catsuit with mouth- nose- and eye-holes as only openings.
"Blond," I answered as we closed in. I had ordered to keep her fair mane under latex, too.
She reacted to our voices by producing rasped sounds. When I had specified the openings, I had been imprecise. A latex blindfold was holding her in darkness and a large tube gag in silence. The former – wide enough to cover her nose-holes, too – bereaved her of four openings, whilst the latter forced a fifth into agonising dimensions. Ever since I saw its kind in Japanese hardcore bondage porns, I knew it to be the perfect travelling accessory for my trainees.
The gag's head-harness ran unyieldingly over both hood and blindfold, with a rubber stopper dangling on a chain from the mouth frame. The fact that the stopper and its chain were identical to those which could be found on washbasins and bath tubs added to the contraption's depravity.
Nakamura and I hunkered down before the girl, for she was on her elbows and knees, and only on her elbows and knees. Her claves were bent back against her thighs by the means of latex tape. I noticed with satisfaction that the wraps of tape had been applied smoothly and without kinks (pun intended). Same with her arms, but here additional bondage mittens engulfed her hands. A strong curb chain ran along the back of her neck to connect the rings at the mittens' ends.
Nakamura reached out with his left hand to caress her rubber-clad and leather-trapped face, paying special attention to the obscenely wide opening of her mouth. He pushed his fingers through the reinforced rubber tube, all four and a half. He missed a part of his little finger, which made it quite obvious what nature his profession was of.
Sweetest sounds of distressed gagging came from my captive as her throat reacted to the invasion. The girl wiggled in her bondage, but had learnt the hard way during her journey that too much movement would cause her torment in addition to the gnawing cramps which were searing her muscles.
To ensure the correct body tension, the sender of this charming cargo had forced the female's back into a severe arc. And to do this in the worst way, he had knotted a leather strap to the ring at the top of her head-harness. Nothing too wild so far; the fun came with the item at the other end of the strap. An anal hook was bending its shaft around her tailbone. From there the bare metal disappeared between the sliders of a naughty dual zipper running between the suit's legs.
I didn't know whether or not her juicy bum had received intrusive objects before. But I dared say that even without the relentless strain from her head this particular toy would be a challenge.
Not only was the steel hook absolutely unforgiving, it was also fitted with a two-inch sphere at the end instead of just a rounded tip. And to drive the point home, a legion of dull spikes covered aforesaid sphere. Since the strap wasn't fastened centrically, the hook tilted every time it was pulled at, pressing the spikes into the tender wall of her rectal tract.
The four-fingered hand retracted, and the girl's gaggings were replaced by coughs. Nakamura wiped his hand on a handkerchief. The rubber tube was wet with saliva, but the open mouth gag had dried out her throat cruelly. The fluid which should moisten her oral cavity was covering her rubberised chin and or was running lazily down the stopper's chain. Said stopper had of course not been inserted during her trip – dead she would be of far less worth (although there was a market for that, too). No, for a sufficient exchange of air had been taken care of. Her mouth had been lined up with a hole in the – now removed – crate's front wall. It didn't take much imagination to reckon that air had not been the only thing going through his opening. For someone standing on the road behind the van, the crate had been in the right height.
It is important to understand that my special customer did not care if the merchandise was pure or virginal in any way or hole. The girls he bought were not precious in any way to him.
On the contrary: He loathed them, wanted to loathe them. That's why he ordered – I better say demanded – only gaijin. Always gaijin. Always blonde ones, so their origin and therefore supposed worthlessness were even more blatant.
I'm a gaijin, too, a "person from outside". I had travelled many countries before. But the Asian serenity had fascinated me ever since I had come to this country for the first time. That, and the prospering market for trained females.
Speaking of which: It was time to initiate the first step. Being kidnapped, bound in an agonisingly unnatural position, humiliated, boxed and orally raped had softened her up, no doubt about that. Yet these actions had induced no development, no progress towards the true aim. If I wanted to sell scared, abased puppets, I would just have them drugged and beaten up for three days. That did not meet my standards. At the end of her training, my little tourist – like all her predecessors – would be a high quality product, a fetish doll for sadists beyond sadism.
With some effort I pulled her blindfold away. Not only was it trapped under the snug gag harness, but also sticking to the hood. Yet I insisted upon her witnessing the following event.
As the blindfold finally came free, I was greeted by a pair of enchanting grey-green eyes. And although yon eyes were filled with fear, there was no trace of the mindless panic I had seen on so many other trainees-to-be.
"Well..." I took her passport from the inside pocket of my jacket, " ... Illaun from Éire."
I intentionally mispronounced it as "Eerie", hoping to hurt her proud Irish ears with it. The photograph in her papers didn't do her justice; Illaun was far better looking in real life. Especially gagged and hooded...
I looked up to the new guy.
"Oi! Have a light?" I knew that both Nakamura and Tanaka were non-smokers.
He just looked insecurely at me and smiled. The dumb gofer hadn't understood one word.
Now his face showed genuine relief.
He handed me a cheap disposable lighter, and I turned my attention back towards the grey-green eyes.
"Are you with me, Illaun?"
She made a guttural sound.
"This is the last time you answer to that name."
I lit the lighter and held the flame at her passport. Illaun made no further sounds, but the Irish eyes filled up with fresh tears as the red booklet was consumed by the fire.
I dropped the smouldering remains.
"From now on you will answer to dorei."
The strong covers hadn't burn up completely, and I used them as makeshift dustpan and brush. With quick moves I shovelled the ashes into her mouth and sealed it with the rubber stopper.
My new trainee withstood the temptation to shake her head in disgust (I only say anal hook), but tried vainly to push the stopper back out with her tongue. Next to me, Nakamura-san smirked. We both rose, and I grabbed the strap oh so cruelly tautened between the crown of her head and her rectal tormentor.
.... There is more of this story ...