Akira Comes of Age

Don Julian Winslow

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Birthdays are a very special time; a time of happy memories; a time of presents. And a very special gift indeed was to be young Akira’s marking the rite of passage on the day when the boy would become a man.

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The private elevator glided up to the top floor in a whispered rush as Gresham managed to sneak a sideways glance at his attractive traveling companion -- the tall good-looking blonde who stood perfectly still, facing the golden double doors. Her lean figure cut a neatly trim profile in that sharply-tailored business suit: her manner; calm, cool and collected as she clutched the briefcase holding her ever-present laptop with both hands held in front of her. If the woman was nervous she hid it well.

Gresham smiled to himself. He knew Kiyoshi-san would be pleased, secretly delighted to be presented with this prize: the beautiful American woman -- by his most thoughtful Vice-President. He well knew how much the old man lusted after tall blondes; the kind with that long streamlined figure of a fashion model. The kind built just like Stormy Cartwright.

The delicate Japanese girl who opened the door was exquisitely made up, her willowy body wrapped in the traditional robe of a Geisha. With a gracious smile and a bow that was low enough to show proper respect to the honored guests of her esteemed master, she welcomed them into the cool interior of a darkened room.

At the far end of the room sat a slender Japanese in an impeccable business suit. He held himself with an imposing air behind a sleekly modern conference table of shiny ebony. The man sat perfectly upright and ramrod stiff, with the sort of cold resolute look that Gresham had come to expect from senior executives in Japan’s most prestigious corporations. At his left, sat a young Japanese, not much more than a boy, also neatly dressed in an expensive suit, but a bit chubbier, and with a face that was impassive if not as dignified as the older man’s.

“Wait here.” Gresham whispered out of the corner of his mouth as his assistant followed him into the room and now stood nervously two paces behind, her back to the door.

As Gresham stepped forward, the Geisha bowed and backed away, padding across the deep rug to take her place on the floor to one side of the room. She lowered herself to sit with legs tucked under her. But Gresham never let his eyes stray from the old bald man as he walked the five paces to stop before the gleaming desk. He stiffened, and bowed from the waist.

“Good evening, Kiyoshi-san, it was good of you to allow us to visit.”

The old man moved ever so slightly bringing his narrow black eyes fully to bear on his subordinate. Kanji Kiyoshi, Chairman of the Board of ITTO Corporation gave a barely perceptible nod. He seemed detached, as if above the world’s concern, while the boy at his side was a different case entirely. He may have been a teenager or even older -- it was hard to tell. In any case, he seemed especially eager and was having trouble maintaining the rigid control that was demanded by his place at the table. Even now he was leaning forward, with interested eyes fixed on the stately blonde who stood waiting in the shadows.

Kiyoshi greeted Gresham in English, formally but with courtesy, and introduced the boy at his side as his nephew, Akira. He explained that Akira had just come of age. In fact, it was his birthday today. Tomorrow he was to be accepted into the corporation, and he wished the boy to gain certain …”experiences.” Now the American and his Japanese boss exchanged pleasantries until, almost as an afterthought, the old man inquired after the blonde who had been left waiting in the doorway.

“Ah..yes. This lady works for me, Sir,…well, my apologies, Sir. She actually works for you, at ITTO’s New York Office. Ms. Cartwright is my Personal Assistant, and while we are in Tokyo she will, of course, be glad to serve you, Kiyoshi-san,…in whatever capacity you may desire.

“Humm ..” Kiyoshi grunted, his gaze shifting to the exquisite long-limbed, beauty waiting respectfully in the shadows. Gresham saw the old man’s eyes light up. He beckoned Gresham to him, and whispered something in his ear.

Gresham nodded. Backed up; turned to his assistant.

“Ms. Cartwright, the honorable Company Chairman wishes to meet you. Please step up.”

The blonde set down her laptop and moved obediently into the center-lit room. She turned to Gresham and was about to say something; but he shook his head, smiled at her, and nodded his encouragement. The woman turned back to the desk, and bowed in the Japanese fashion as she had been taught.

The Company Chairman uttered a few guttural words in Japanese as he studied the thirtyish blonde at the far end of the room. Gresham translated. “Mr. Kiyoshi is pleased to welcome you, and he wonders if you would come closer and remove your clothes so he may get a better look at you. This lady here will be glad to assist you.”

The bald head nodded approvingly at the English words and looked with pleased interest upon this, his newest acquisition. The well-dressed businesswoman looked at the two Japanese who were watching her with obvious interest. She turned to Gresham, as if seeking his reassurance.

“Go on, Stormy,” he whispered. “Here we go. From this point on you must do what you are told here, exactly what you are told. Don’t screw this up. Remember, it means a lot -- to us, both of us.”

The Geisha now glided forward, stepping up behind the American woman and helping her to slip the suit jacket of her shoulders. Stormy went to reach for top button of her blouse, but her helpful handmaiden had already moved in and was attacking the front buttons, leaving the blond girl to stand there with hands loosely at her sides, simply letting herself be undressed; her pale face tense but expressionless, chin held high as she was being stripped.

Standing perfectly still under the lights, Stormy felt her loosened blouse being removed, pulled from her skirt, taken down her dangling arms; then her helper stepped aside, careful not to obscure the view of all three males who watched with such rapt attention.

Now the three males took in the sight of the young woman in her brassiere; her slim chest and creamy, smoothly contoured shoulders. Delicate breasts nestled cozily in the thin beige pouches of a delicate bra; nipples dimly visible through the sheer fabric. Now the Geisha was undoing her narrow skirt, working it down Stormy’s hips. A nudge at the ankle urged her to lift her feet so the crumpled skirt could be pulled free from her shoes.

She straightened up before her male admirers; Stormy Cartwright in pantyhose and brassiere was an inspiring sight indeed! The old man gave a murmur of genuine approval; the boy couldn’t keep still, but wiggled excitedly in his chair; his eyes were wide and he seemed to be flushed and sweating.

The Geisha wasted no time in stepping up behind the taller American girl. She unhitched the bra and let it fall into her hands freeing Stormy’s floppy little breasts to settle into place. The three males were staring, three pair of eyes drawn instantly to the American woman’s newly-exposed chest -- two flatted mounds with their up-tilted nipples. No one moved. The dutiful Geisha brought over a chair for Stormy, then knelt at her feet to assist in removing shoes and stripping the clinging pantyhose down her legs. As they watched intently, Stormy lifted herself off the chair, worked her panties down her hips and handed them to her assistant, all the while ignoring the greedy eyes that devoured her naked body.

“Stand up” Gresham’s voice was business-like, even perfunctory.

The nude girl rose to her feet to stand before them.

A curt command was spat out in a Japanese growl.

“Now, get up on the table; kneel on it. Move. On hands and knees!”

Now tense and uneasy, Stormy moved to obey. The attentive Geisha helped her climb up on the smoothly polished top of the conference table. Stormy was avoiding Gresham’s eyes; he could only wonder at what thoughts were going through her head -- to be exposed like this, to be made to perform for these men.

The Japanese grunted.

"Our host says you are very beautiful on your knees. He approves. Now crawl forward, slowly, all the way, right up the table."

Kiyoshi leaned forward to better watch the blond nude move as she closed in on him; the boy licked his lips; fidgeted in his chair. Stormy kept her eyes on the shiny black tabletop as she padded to the head of the table, there to stop just inches from the seated Corporate President.

The harsh Japanese words came out like a gunshot.

“He wants you to raise your head. Look at Kiyoshi-san.” Gresham translated.

Stormy looked up to find the hard black eyes staring into hers from only a few inches away. She froze, mesmerized by those eyes that pinned her in place.

Still looking into her big blue eyes, the imperious man brought a hand up and reached under her to cup a dangling tit. Her expression never changed as he fingered her hanging beast, fondled her, thoughtfully thumbed a rubbery nipple. Suddenly his fingers closed; he squeezed, gently at first, than harder, gripping her captive breast so hard that she was forced to close her eyes and suck in a shivering gasp of breath.

The young lad sat fascinated: his eyes riveted on the erotic caresses that were even now starting to heat up the woman. Kiyoshi turned to him as he gave up the dangling breast and spat out something, short and curt. The boy brightened up, grinned from ear to ear, nodding vigorously.

Bending forward, he eagerly reached under Stormy’s body to grab her other breast with a hot and sweaty hand, clutching the small handful of tittie-flesh, pumping the supple breast, relishing the exciting feel of the softly pliant mound with that deep firmness that yielded to his tightening fingers while the woman could do no more than close her eyes, arch back and sway. The Japanese lad was clearly enjoying himself, gleefully feeling up the mature Western woman who bit her lip but still couldn’t stifle the low ragged moan that escaped in spite of her best efforts.

He went on eagerly manipulating those supple breasts that now filled both of his cupped hands, fondling the woman incessantly until an abrupt command from the boy’s uncle caused him to pull his hand away leaving her, still on all fours, hot, flushed and panting through parted lips, excited in spite of herself.

Another Japanese order was translated. “Now turn around,…and back up.” She shuffled to obey, acutely aware that this maneuver would bring her naked bottom practically into the face of the Chairman of the Board of ITTO.

“Head down…on the table.” The words sent a thrill thorough her; she obediently lowered her forehead to the polished wood and arched her back, presenting her buttocks for his inspection. She stayed there like that for long moments, not daring to move. She could feel eyes probing her most intimate parts. A quiver ran through her. She knew this was making her wet.

She felt hands, cool and dry hands, curving to fit her rear cheeks, following their tight curves. A hand snaked between her legs to cup her blond vulva, fondled her lavishly there, feeling her softness, the moist heat of her furry crotch. She whimpered, hips twitching in growing excitement.

Another curt order was abruptly punctuated by a stinging slap on the tail that caught her by surprise. She jerked up with a tiny yelp.

There was a harsh laugh and a string of Japanese words that came out like a machine gun.

“Our employer is pleased with you, Ms. Cartwright. He says, very pleased, indeed.”

***

Words shot back and forth in a volley of rapid-fire Japanese; the naked woman on her knees looked up at Gresham. The questioning look on her face only brought one of his encouraging smiles. He started toward her, paused, looked at the head of the table as though waiting for permission. Only after he got the brief nod, did he come closer, leaning over the table, lightly caressing a bare shoulder while he whispered in the girl’s ear. She nodded knowingly; he let his hand linger there, patting her in what he hoped was reassurance.

The Japanese executive was watching all this very closely -- and waiting; the instant he saw the blonde’s head nod in understanding, he shot out an order.

Gresham translated. “OK Stormy. What the kid wants now is to see a little pussy. Sit up on the table…and scoot down so you’re right in front of him.”

Stormy obeyed, scrambling up to place her bare bottom on the polished tabletop, sliding down till her legs hung down the side of the table. The smiling Japanese lad immediately moved his chair right up between her dangling legs, positioning himself just inches from her blond vagina.

Akira turned to Gresham, and spat out words of commands in a rather amusing imitation of his more imperious uncle.

“That’s good, now…pull your legs up, feet on the edge of the table...and spread ‘em; show him what you got.”

Moving as in a trance, the sitting nude drew up her legs and slowly let her steepled knees fall open, allowing the young man the close-up view he so desperately coveted of her blond-furred femininity. Akira’s first sight of a mature woman’s vagina sent a shudder through the lad. His youthful penis instantly sprang to full blossom, surging demandingly against the front of his fine worsted pants.

The boy quickly asked his uncle something; got a grunt of permission.

They watched as the youth slowly and hesitatingly reached out to place a single finger on the tuck right between the opened legs of the blond woman, bringing the fingertip in contact with the fleshy ridge that marked the central slit. It was a touch that was curious, almost clinical; Stormy, looking over his shoulder as she was touched in that most intimate place, kept her eyes on Gresham’s who wore a plastered-on smile.

Suddenly she felt the pressing finger stab into her, pushing its way between the slick and already moistened lips. It was brief sally, an unsure probe right between her cuntlips, but the swiftness of the unexpected thrust took her breath away.

Akira saw the wince cross her face as she reflexively jerked back, and abruptly he withdrew his penetrating finger. Confused, he turned to look at his uncle.

The old man grunted, said a few words, then turned to Gresham who relayed the message.

“He says: ‘You do it.’ I think he wants you to touch yourself. Masturbate. Go on, just play with yourself a little.”

“Here? Now?” she gasped out in disbelief.

“Stormy! For god’s sake, just do it!” The words were harsh; the tone one that demanded immediate obedience.

Avoiding the eyes of the smirking Japanese boy, she looked down at her spread crotch and slowly brought a hand into play. She let her legs fall negligently open. Three joined fingers delved into her crotch, rubbing along the gaping lips. The boy leaned closer, his eyes transfixed on the manipulating fingers which were now curling up into the soft hairy pussy flesh between her outstretched legs. With the hand between her legs, Stormy gripped herself tightly, then used her palm to languidly rub her blond pubic mound.

Biting down on her curled lips, she stifled a tiny moan. Then, she extended her pointed middle finger to caress herself, savoring the slow rise of creamy pleasure. And in that way Stormy Cartwright masturbated for her fascinated male audience. Eyes closed, s he let herself slip away, oblivious to the watchers as she sunk into her own private waves of rising sensual pleasure.

The naked woman’s eyes were closed; her body straining up and arching back as an extended finger found her clitoris. Her eyes clenched tight against a powerful upsurge of sheer pleasure that brought a guttural groan from her tightly-pressed lips.

She swayed, strained upwards and her erect body tensed. The fluttering staccato of the finger that was now tapping her clitoris quickened.

She whimpered; bounced, began to tremble. Suddenly she hunched forward, clenching her thighs tight on the pleasuring hand now buried deep in her crotch. A massive quiver shot through her body, and she whimpered out her desperate need, straining to reach the peak of her climax.

As they watched, a shudder ran through the woman’s straining body. She let out a low earthy breath that turned into a wavering moan as a massive orgasm overtook her, held her, shook her to the core.

Then it was over. She sank back down, her feet slipped off the edge of the table till she sat limp and drained, slack legs dangling down. Her head hung low between rigid arms held at her sides. Her shoulders were heaving as she sat there, panting heavily through her opened mouth. The boy was bolder now: he brought a hand up between the woman’s legs to sample her wet cunt.

He ran a finger up between her cuntlips, and when he withdrew it, he sat there looking curiously at thumb and fingers as he rubbed them together, examining the wet and slippery substance he had found there.

Kiyoshi laughed - a short, dry laugh.

He said something to Gresham, who in turn, explained things to his assistant.

“Honorable Kiyoshi-san believes you have taught his nephew a valuable lesson about women. He is pleased. Now he would like your further cooperation.”

The Japanese words came out in a quick stream. Gresham nodded and continued:

“It seems it is the young man’s birthday, and as he has come of age, Kiyoshi has been promised a very special present. He wonders if you’d be so kind as to be a gift for his nephew, to serve for the next two days as his pillow girl. It would be a valued favor to him. If that is agreeable to you?”

Stormy knew this was coming –- or something like it. Gresham had gone over it with her. And she had long ago decided she must see it through. He had made it plain: it meant a big promotion for him and for her the chance to be promoted to his, Gresham’s, job – V-P of North American Operations. And so now she merely nodded her acquiescence.

“No, You must say: ‘ Hai , Akuseputo, Kiyoshi-san.’ Say it, Stormy!”

The words came our poorly, haltingly, but they were enough to send the two Japanese beaming.

Kiyoshi looked directly at Akira. “She is yours young man. Tell me, does it make your cock hard to know that this American woman, this adult, is your plaything? That she will do exactly as she is told?"

Akira nodded his head so vigorously, that Kiyoshi laughed.

“Kiyoshi-san is pleased that you agree. Now he would consider it a favor if you would please get down off the table and pay tribute to his nephew’s penis.”

The clearly excited young man, nodding and smiling in disbelief at his incredible good fortune, pushed his chair back from the table and spread his legs inviting the American woman to her knees to service him.

Without a word, Stormy was helped down by the assisting Geisha. She turned to the grinning boy whose eyes were following her every move, and lowered herself to kneel before him.

Akira looked down onto the bowed head of the nude woman between his sprawled legs. He felt a surge of elation, the thrill of the immense power that was his -- his dominance over this grown woman – an adult, a mature Western woman. Unbelievably, he had been given her as his plaything! She was his to have and possess for two whole days; to use in any way that pleased him.

***

The Japanese taxi driver tried his best to ignore the two American tourists entangled like heated lovers in the corner of the back seat. He knew very little English but he could tell that the pretty blond girl seemed to be in an amorous mood, even though at the moment she was pouting, as though resentful of something. Her silver-haired lover was petting her, doing his best to soothe and placate her, cuddling her like a loving father might comfort a petulant child.

She snuggled in the crook of his arm, while his hand began absently stroking her hair and he made little reassuring sounds. Had the driver been able to understand what the foreigners were saying he would have been astonished.

“I didn’t mind letting the little bastard paw me, or even sucking his cock in front of you and the old man. He had such a little thing. Just a few licks and he came; couldn’t help himself. Just a kid, really,” She smirked. “But it was the spanking that was so hateful.

You don’t know how humiliating it is: to be forced to put on that schoolgirl’s uniform, lift the skirt up for that sweaty, grinning kid, and then stand there while he pulled my panties down to my knees, hauled me over his lap and then began slapping my bottom, hard, spanking me like I was a naughty little girl. The little shit was really enjoying himself, spanking away and giggling all the while! I thought he’d never stop. My butt still hurts.”

The mock outrage of the words whispered in his ear were turning Gresham on, and he closed his arm around his recently-rescued Assistant pulling her even closer. The other hand slid up her leg and over her skirted behind. He gave her tempting bottom a friendly squeeze.

“It’s alright Stormy. It’s all over now. So you got your tail warmed a little bit, no permanent damage done? Still, I guess we should check it out, just be sure. In fact I think, when we get back to the hotel, I’ll need to thoroughly examine that adorable little tail of yours for any sign of injury. Daddy will soothe away the hurt and make it all better. After all, our V-P of North American Operations has to be able to sit on that pretty derriere of hers if she’s going to be running all those business meetings.”

The End