Chapter 1: Major Bill Waters Japan BCOF

The first blast went down her throat before she could swallow fast enough. Then the second surge followed and filled her mouth to overflowing. My milky, grey-white sperm oozed from the sides of her mouth and down her cheeks and chin. She grimaced as my third went down the wrong pipe and she spewed sperm from her flat-nosed nostrils. With sperm flowing from her nose, the kneeling Nanase Aragake, my 19-year-old maid, choked and coughed up some of my cum. Her outmatched cocksucking mouth was stuffed with my cock and jism and with my belly blocking her nose she couldn’t breathe and was nearly drowning in cum.

She was beginning to lose consciousness when my spurts finally ended. Her face was covered with my white swimmers when I pulled my softening baby maker from Nanase’s throat and it gave one final burp of sperm onto her round face. She lay there, her face and tits plastered with cum, and I thought how lucky I was as I said, “Be in my bed in 2 hours ready for an all-nighter.”

It was unfortunate for her that although I had read General Macarthur’s decree regarding the liberation of Japanese women through enfranchisement I had dismissed it as not applying to me as I was an Australian serviceman, not an American soldier. It was a case of when in Rome do as the Romans do, and it was easy step for me to treat her in the same way as women had been treated by Japanese men prewar.

My name is Bill Walters, called by my mates, though I have to admit I don’t have many as I tend to use people, as Donger, Aussie slang for cock. I like to think it is because of its size but to be truthful, it was because I was always trying to use it on some female, mostly unattractive as they were the only ones I had a chance with. I was a Major in the Australian army of 27,000 servicemen which was part of the British Commonwealth Occupation Force (BCOF) that accompanied over 350,000 USA servicemen occupying Japan straight after World War 2.

Why was I in the army and why was I lucky? First, I wasn’t enough of a fool to volunteer to join the Australian 6th Division in 1940 and fight Rommel in the North African desert, then be recalled to repel the Japs in New Guinea. No, I did my part on the home front in Melbourne by looking after their wives while they were overseas. And they needed a lot of looking after. In mid 1942 conscription was introduced and to my horror, I ended up in New Guinea set to take on the so far undefeated Japanese threatening to invade Australia after they, according to their plans, captured Port Morsby, thus being only separated from Australia by the 150 km of the Torres Strait.

Luckily, as I was at the rear, ‘bravely’ limping along with an ‘injured’ ankle, I observed an Australian Captain desert his men in the jungle and flee. Of course, I forgot my ‘injured ankle’ and rapidly followed his example. As we were the only 2 to survive, he and I kept quiet. Well, I actually embellished the truth a little and we ended up on the front page as ‘valiant hero survivors who saved Australia from invasion’. From memory, I think I said it was 15 Japanese I defeated in savage single hand-to-hand combat in my attempt to get a message back to HQ. Thus, I was a well-known soldier from the first group of Western soldiers to defeat Japanese expansion and I secured a position at HQ, well behind the lines for the rest of the war. One I was well suited for.

From that vantage point I saw the remainder of the brutal Pacific conflict and, as Australians detest the British officer stiff-lipped, upper-class-only promotion pathway, I was steadily promoted and was now a major based in the above-mentioned BCOF administration of Japan. As the fleeing officer died from alcoholism in 1944 my army background was secure. The Australians were based near Hiroshima but I had stabbed a few backs, spread unsavoury rumours and secured a liaison position with the USA army who really ran the post-war Japan show. I quickly found that my powers were like that of Judge Dread in Stallone’s movie. And boy did I use them as Nanase knew.

I had it all. A luxury apartment in Tokyo’s USA Army headquarters, the Dai-Ichi building, courtesy of the USA, not in Kure near Hiroshima where the Aussies were hunkered down. I was able to enforce both Australian and USA powers over civilians, choosing whichever gave me the best outcome, and my department was mandated with controlling vice and the licencing and food and liquor distribution of the bars. Talk about putting Dracula in charge of the Blood Bank. I had corruption money from black marketeers and the re-emerging Yakuza, financially desperate homeless and semi-staving Japanese whose women were desperate to do anything, and freebies from the bars and brothels in return for classification as troop-approved and assured liquor and food supplies.

There was only one fly in the ointment. My female translator, Yui Sasaki. She was 28, a widow and a goddess to look at. She was about 5 ft 3, rounded body with 34C tits and a face that just begged to be fucked. Somehow, without trying, everything she did just oozed sex appeal. But she had resisted all my attempts, firstly trying to charm her and then threatening her. Hell, I had even tried to make her guilty from gratitude, giving her younger sister, Nanase, a job as my maid and bringing both from post-war poverty in the atom bomb-devastated city of Hiroshima to Tokyo in preference to accepting USA-supplied staff. And you know that feeling. What you are denied becomes even more desirable.

A week later Yui burst into my office. “You must do something. Nanase is missing. I fear she has been kidnapped. You have contacts in the underworld. Ask questions. Find my little sister,” she wailed.

I hoped Nanase had been kidnapped and not suicided as she had threatened to do after participating in the last bondage session that I had put her through. Not so much for her sake but mine. Recovering from the shock, I smiled and said, “Of course, I want to help. I will need you to translate. But you made it very clear the other day that you would only translate for me on official Army business, and this is not Army business.” I shrugged my shoulders as if to say my hands were tied.

“That was you going to brothels. This is my innocent sister. Of course, I will translate for you in your enquiries.”

I kept my smirk to myself. Innocent. She may have been innocent when Yui discovered her among a group of refugees outside Hiroshima after the bomb to end all wars. But after 5 months of yours truly that was definitely not the case. At this point, you may be wondering how Yui was unaware that for 4 months I had been subjecting her sister to every perversion I knew, plus those I had discovered in Japan. Well, Nanase believed, from what I had told her, that Yui had worked in the infamous Japanese chemical warfare Unit 731. Google it. An understandable belief given her late Kamikaze-pilot husband’s uncle was a director there. Nanase believed if Yui found out about her and my little secret, then the USA would find out about my version of Yui’s past. It always warmed my heart to hear Nanase tell her sister how much she enjoyed working for me, knowing my recently deposited swimmers were tricking from her arse down her Kimono-covered legs. And to be fair, apart from the last over-enthusiastic bondage session, she did enjoy it as I had, by luck, found a real Japanese slut in Nanase.

“I don’t know. You were very emphatic about going to higher authorities if you translated for me on non-Army matters. I know we could perhaps find your sister working together, but what if then you go to the authorities. It would ruin me.”

“You can trust me. I always keep my word,” Yui said desperately, but of course that fell on deaf ears.

“I need some proof. Maybe you could, I don’t know. Perhaps you can think of something,” My voice trailed off but my eyes remained fixed on her 34C tits pressing against her newish, post-war, cheap, non-silk kimono. This post-war adapted kimono with its narrow skirt and tighter sleeves, saved more than 4 meters of scarce fabric per kimono. Although the kimono covered too much it was still preferable to the standard Japanese WW2 women’s clothing, the Monpe, which some women still wore. This was a jacket and trousers style made from old kimonos but more suited for work with the Monpe trousers featuring a loose waistband and a drawstring hem around each ankle and very unattractive they were.

“You bastard,” she hissed. “I know what you want.”

Get upset all she wanted, but I knew I had her, so an hour later I watched her, as with eyes that showed how much she loathed me she removed her kimono in a stilted manner. She stood there stiffly and woodenly trying to cover her slit and tits as I unashamedly ogled her. With my trips to the brothels and bars I had become accustomed to copious, black-haired pussies, but hers was like a forest in the Amazon compared to sparse Aussie bushland. Far too much to be covered by one hand. Even though she tried and her other hand could not cover both her full tits and thick nipples.