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Oriental Transformation (Damien Starkey)

Oriental Transformation by Damien Starkey

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The beautiful, cool, almost distant Japanese girl dominated his thoughts, his fantasies and his working life. The narrator of this story decides he cannot go on like that, so begins to make advances to her - and finds himself in a situation he could not believe!

Akiko is a traditional Japanese lady with traditional values and he will be brought to ‘justice’ for his actions. Beaten, humiliated and turned into a ‘maid’ for their pleasure, displayed before friends and used as a sex slave, is he in Hell - or Heaven?

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 12 / 2017

No. words: 32300

Style: Fem Dom - F/M

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


“Jerking-off. That’s all he can do,” Akiko cries out abruptly. What sounds like a death-cry shoots high in the air. “The filthy shit. Not like you,” she struggles to hold off an explosion of moans, only to add, “you know how to do it. You don’t waste your time jerking-off -” her sentence broken off by her excited yelps.
My fantasies built up over a year in the time we’d worked together. Nearly every time I jacked-off or fucked girlfriends she made an appearance somewhere. Outside those fantasies, apart from standard office civilities and battles, whenever I had a chance to talk to her I couldn’t get to the point. I was convinced away from the office, in a bar, after a few drinks, she would open up and then I might admit what I felt for her. And after that, God! If she gave me a minute’s worth of what I wanted: I would do anything for her. Yeah, right, I knew it would never happen.

A circular memo appeared in my in-tray. Usual bullshit. A three-day seminar well out of town. Is Team Awareness and Management Roleplay such a specialised field that it can’t be done in NYC? What a waste of company money. No one’s going to want to go to this bullshit. These awareness group seminars are all simply a rehash of common sense, embellished with market-researched jargon and a good dollop of management consultancy buzzwords.
There was only one name on the list and from all I’ve said already you know it was Akiko’s. So I added my name and kept the memo on my desk for a few days, handing it in on deadline, hoping it was the only list circulating the building. A few days before we had to travel I asked Akiko, as dispassionately as I could manage, choosing a moment so there was no one else around, if she was going to some bullshit Team Awareness freebie. She glanced up from her screen and answered sullenly, how it would be good for the whole team and it was so important, didn’t I agree, to build a good team relationship, etc., etc., giving me the kind of patronising platitudes we were bound to hear. I winced, my heartbeat missing a beat - I remarked I fancied a break myself. Typical, her withering look told me.
I wanted to ask how she was getting there, but I sensed I would blush and give it all away. I allowed myself one last lingering peep at her face and was quickly reminded, noting myself harden, it was made for giving the perfect blow-job. She has a plump nose. Not a massive one but her nostrils are adequately spread out and her lips, beautifully glossed, with sharply defined points. Long healthy black hair swept back over her head and draped straight over her ears. Where her hair curled it formed lines around her face, round toward her chin. And her powerful dark eyes, cold and haughty as they seemed, have the propensity to be dirty. I imagined her long hair swish. The tips would flap against the girth of my member as she turned her head.
I had regular fantasies sitting opposite her in the office, alone in bed or while doing the wild thing with a girlfriend; I played with the many images I’d gotten simply by constantly sneaking glances of her. In office hours she was cold. She gave the impression she was inhumanely efficient which, seeing her work up-close, it and she weren’t as super as people seemed to think. But she gave the right impression. Businesslike. Dressed always formally in a business suit, skirt or pants, dark, bland colours, a cheery, yet always professional telephone manner. She knew when to laugh in the right places and sound as if she really meant it when she said this was the best offer/service/ product/option in the whole USA and, of course, men in powerful positions loved to hear her make unbelievably good promises and affirmations of what she had to offer. They got off on it, no doubt about it. I certainly did. She could tell me what she could do for me and it sounded like seduction, not some boring re-jigging of a policy option.
In team meetings she said the right things top management wanted to hear, things that no one in the team at the bottom or middle really wanted, because it would increase workload or add new just achievable targets. Put her proposals into effect and employees had to put in extra work and hours for no extra salary. Maybe the middle or bottom, just maybe, might see bonuses coming their way. I winced inside, hearing her on-message and because no one else in the team wanted to appear overtly negative toward objectives that suited the company I was the only one ingeniously or openly prepared to ridicule or counter Akiko’s good work practices and efficiency exercises. But she’s the master (or mistress, rather) of the put-down. Hers weren’t always the rational put-down but they mostly worked and sounded unobjectionable in the environment they were set. (And if my counter-arguments were too effective in their forcefulness I rarely won because no one likes to see a man seeming to attack a young woman so harshly.) The aims and objectives of senior management and the company were her ripostes. She restated them staring at me, an expression of condescension and repulsion so clear it pained me to know other people at the meetings knew exactly what she thought of me. And those looks heightened my fantasies, reshaped them into images of my bare body set in her lap. As she spanked me she cursed in the language of the dirtiest whore. What turned me on was the obvious fact she seemed unobtainable and remote. While sitting opposite me she received phone calls from her husband every day - sometimes more than once - and while they mainly discussed domestics there had been moments she giggled like the flirting high school girl of male fantasy and I’d felt myself stiffen inside my pants, a slight twitch as I imagined him telling her what he was going to do to her when she got home. She never went to a bar after work, she was on her way home, straight to child and husband. I knew little of her home life, apart from the point her husband was an accountant, a successful accountant if he could afford to run four cars, one of hers being a new model Mercedes, and they lived in an expensive 5-bedroom house in a good area. Enough income to sent their son to a private school. In their late twenties, the perfect couple.
They sit, comfortably relaxed in the depth of a luxurious leather sofa staring at the white man, spine hunched awkwardly in the centre of their front living room. The husband smiles confidently, knowing he can have Akiko any time and she glares severely, her head laid back.
“Take your pants down so we can see,” she tells me, blasé. I unfasten and lower them slowly. “And your boxers,” and an erection bounces out and quivers before settling mid-air. I blush and gaze at the lush carpet. They laugh viciously. In between her laughter she gasps, “I wonder who’s excited him?”
And I glance back, noticing both of them in navy blue suits, a choice in colour that well matches the hue of their skins and their hair, as dark as though dyed dark blue over blue over blue, in order to create their hair’s primary acute blackness.
“You sad, sad man,” she remarks, exchanging cruel glances with her husband. “I think I’ll cane him for having no respect for my honour. After that you can take me. Show him what a real man does to satisfy his wife.” She rises quickly. She has a spindly cane in her hand. “Bend over,” she hisses, “bend over, you shit!”
She canes me, putting all she can behind her arm. On each stroke the straight cane hits me across my bare ass-cheeks. It burns me like a hot iron. She uses so much power she grunts like a tennis player. What is it about her that I allow her to punish me like this? I can pull up my pants and boxers and walk out any time I want, but I stay still, telling myself I will do anything for her, if only she gives me just a little of the total love I feel for her. She is the most perfect, beautiful woman I know.
My shoulders kick. I clamp my lips tight and stare at their massive TV screen through the little slits in my eyelids. But I can’t hold back, after the seventh blow I cry out again and again. My eyes are watery and sting, heavy saliva at the back of my throat gags me for a full three seconds. I gulp and cry out again. A simultaneous yelp of pain and a mercy plea. The cane, that most lethal of household weapons, tears skin off my back and buttocks. My shirt is shredded. She uses so much force each blow is agony in itself, cutting skin and bringing tears. I shudder, screaming for the punishment to end. She orders me to lift a leg up, like I was cocking it for a pee. She wants to beat the underside of my toes. Cautions me to stay completely still, or she might take one off. The cane slices across my bare sole. She isn’t holding anything back, again I scream and that only makes her want to beat me once more. And again. She slashes open my sole. Hits the bones in my toes. It does feel like it will take only a few more blows or one good strike and she will lop off a digit. A few more seconds more and I will faint, the pain is that bad. Warm trickles of blood race down my naked thighs like thick sweat.
She stops and I peer back to see she has lowered her skirt and panties. In one movement the husband dispatches his pants and stands over her. I notice the bulge in his clinging jockeys is remarkably considerable. She’d loosened her blouse and he eases off her bra straps. Immediately he squeezes the ends of her tits. They are small but perfectly formed. They seem firm. Her nipples are getting hard from the slow strokes he finishes at the tips. He pauses for her to yank down his jockeys. The cock is long and extremely narrow. I’ve never seen such a slender cock. Akiko has the end in her curled hand and he’s hard. It turns me on just seeing her gently pressing the member’s head. He’s like a pipe down there, so long.
He goes down on top, disregarding any foreplay and inside less than a minute she starts moaning frantically, like in the movies.
Akiko rolls her head to one side and glances over to me. Seeing me on my knees, bloodstains on the carpet, she remarks distastefully to her husband, “He’s jerking-off. That’s all he can do. The filthy shit. Not like you.”
Okay, I liked the idea of her being the dominant one and putting me down physically and verbally. Everything about her personality at work suggested to me she was a woman who was comfortable with inflicting pain. I bet she enjoyed it. But my fantasies always ended with me making out with the guy’s wife.
I arrived at the building and found the training suite. I walked in exactly on time expecting to see Akiko, as usual well before time sat there with our training session colleagues. But she wasn’t there. I recognised no one among the eight others waiting for the instructor. Once I told Akiko I was going she probably thought, Well, if he’s going I’m certainly not. Damn, what the hell was I doing so far away from the office while she was there, Upper West Side?
The first session started officially and two hours later it was a lunch break. The people on the course seemed okay and if I wasn’t so disappointed I probably would’ve spent time in a bar getting mildly tight. But I went back to my hotel and stayed in my room. Fuck the seminar. I lay on top of the made-up bed and watched TV, a chat show. The guests discuss their salacious domestic sleeping arrangements. If I was in the mood I would’ve imagined Akiko and her liberal sleeping arrangements and jacked-off for an hour.

Author Information

male dom, fem dom, vampires, they all come easy to this writer!


Publisher Information

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