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Urotsukidoji - Wandering-Girl wanders into a club.	By : Nickamano Category: +S to Z > Urotsuki-doji Views: 814 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Urotsukidoji, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Urotsuki-dojo.
- 1
Urotsukidoji.
Urotsuki-dojo - A Wandering-Girl Wanders into a Nightclub.
By Nickamano.
1 -
Yoshitaka sat in one corner, spread out across half of one of the plush-padded, yet somehow still uncomfortable, couches. His half of the maroon couch, and much of the nightclub itself, was sheathed in shadow. Though multicoloured flashes of glowing, spinning lights cascaded across his lap, and the couch's unpleasantly sticky seats, at random intervals. The pulsing music filling the low-ceilinged space was deafening, possessing an undeniable physicality in its endless, thrumming vibrations. Actual music tracks might change every few minutes but the thrum and vibration didn’t, each song merging into the next. It might as well have been one singular piece of music, an unending dance-opera.
It was, of course, dark in the club. Deliberately dingy, beyond the cast of those constantly moving, nauseating lights. However, the ambient illumination always proved to be brighter than expected and proved a constant source of surprise for Yoshi. It was one thing about the club that always seemed a surprise. Even thinking back over memories of being in this place on previous occasions, it had always seemed to be gloomier than it actually was. It was also not particularly rammed either. There were certainly plenty of people around his age within, possibly as many as a thousand, but it was certainly not packed to the gills. There was plenty of free space around. And unfortunately, there seemed to be more males than females this particular Friday night.
The female flesh on display was… actually pretty okay. Though, there were two standouts as far as he was concerned. At least currently, within the cone of his vision. One was a tight little piece in a sleeveless metallic-silver minidress. Her short, wavy, collar length blonde hair was obviously either dyed or a wig. The dress could have been sequin-covered or actual metallic-style fabric. Either way it was spray-painted onto her lithe and compact dancer’s body. She was a good dancer too. Really easy to look at, perfect rhythm, impressively skilled moves. Though perhaps a little show-offish, maybe trying too hard to impress, going for impressing with technique rather than simply having fun.
There was also a woman dressed in bright neon spandex. Strapless cropped top and miniskirt. Head and wristbands that literally glowed in the dark. Her attire also appeared sprayed on. Though beyond ‘bright’ and ‘neon’ actual colours were impossible to determine under those flashing, spinning disco-ball lights. She wasn't as skilled a dancer but, unlike the silvery blonde, lady spandex had curves, and better still, unsupported curves that railed about inside her cropped clothing, simultaneously alluring and distracting.
Both of them were pretty much surrounded by little gangs of slack-jawed drooling guys, trying to dance with them. Trying to make a connection. Hoping for an invitation to fuck. But the two women appeared to be having none of it. They were blocking out the interest by pretending to lose themselves in the music and the dancing, the pointless attempts to strike up conversation by pretending they couldn’t hear a word. No matter how loudly shouted it was. The occasional groping hands were slapped away or cleverly avoided before contact was made, a spin or gyration or side-step-slide.
There were other young women, probably hundreds, spread out around the dancefloor, the couches pressed up against the walls, crowded around the bar and the toilets. And the majority of those were, no doubt, also receiving attention, most of which would be unwanted. However, from Yoshi’s point of view, only those two truly stood out. Silvery-blonde and neon-spandex.
Of course, neither of them held a candle to that girl. The one he was actually here looking for. The one he had met the previous Friday night in this very club. As expected, she was nowhere to be seen. It was utterly heart-breaking, but far from a surprise. He had been coming here for over six months and he had never set eyes on her before last Friday.
Now, she had been ‘to-die-for’. Straight off the top-shelf. Real international household-name supermodel material. Though she had been half the height of those name brands, he considered with a smirk. Picturing her, he could feel his heart racing, burning in his chest while a thousand butterflies flitted dementedly in his stomach.
2 -
Short flared skirt, metallic-shiny knee socks, and a metallic-shiny spaghetti-strap tank top> The latter being nothing but lace-swirls and holes showing off much of her smooth, unblemished, glowing, tanned flesh.
She had appeared out of the blue, catching everyone’s eye and almost immediately letting it known that she was willing to dance with anyone who wanted to try their luck.
Yoshi, like everyone else it seemed, had been incapable of anything except to stare. It was like coming across the most amazing painting in an art gallery. Blown away by captivating beauty. Her shapely, compact and toned body, immaculate - akin to a gymnast’s, was poured into the garments, which seemed to flow over her flesh as though simply another layer of skin. There was a belt around her hips, loose zig-zags of small silver chain, though it might have been a part of the tiny skirt. Her shoes were court style with a basic heel, the same colour as her skirt. Though that colour, under the lights, was anyone’s guess. Her hair was short, a grown-out and wild pageboy cut that somehow suited her to perfection. It flashed with myriad colours under those dancing, whirling lights and, like the skirt and shoes, Yoshi was unable to pin down the actual colour. Not blonde or black or brown.
She had strutted with some kind of blatant eroticism into the club. Her small yet intensely sensual body absorbing the beat of the music. It automatically made her appear lusciously sensual, some kind of ethereal blessing.

At once, hands had been all over her. Bad boys and wanna-be Yakuza coping a feel while they were bumping and grinding. She didn’t appear to take any notice whatsoever. Or care. She certainly didn’t fight or struggle or show any frustration with their constantly roaming, molesting hands.
However, it had been him, Yoshi, she had gone finally home with. Him and no one else. She’d had the pick of the place. Some kind of ethereal sensual power. All eyes had been on her, male and female. Anyone not startled by her appearance and utterly turned on by her, must surely have been either gay-guys or straight-girls.
He had been sitting at the bar at the time, waiting to catch the attention of one of the barmaids. She had just come over and stood beside him, leaning against the bar. Her firm breasts all but propped up atop the drink-slopped laminate. Yoshi managed to catch her eye and she grinned, a childlike over-the-top expression, overfull with energy.
He took his faltering shot, practically stammering, every bit the stereotype loser going after a girl who was way, way out of his league.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
She looked him over for a silent moment, a playful expression of thoughtfulness washing over her heart-breakingly faultless features. He also realised that with the static lights surrounding the bar, he could now see that her holed-lace tank-top was metallic pink, her skirt and shoes looked black or navy and of some kind of velvet-like texture. And her hold-ups though silvery metallic also had transparent panels that revealed the tantalising flesh tone beneath.
“Not really into that kinda stuff.” She said. “Some drugs are okay, I guess. Ones that get you hot... You got anything like that?”
His reply was delayed by a moment’s observation of interesting and expensive looking jewellery. Though there was little of it, what she had appeared to be, at least to his inexperienced eye, far from costume stuff girls usually wore in these kinds of environments. There was a pair of earrings, small teardrop-shaped gold hoops, maybe an inch drop, that framed a little liquid gleam of blood red gemstone, that could only be ruby or perhaps some rare diamond. There might have been letters or kanji etched into the gold but it was too small and tight to identify. While the gems seemed to glow with an inner light, like liquid-filled diamond. There were also a couple of narrow bracelets around her left wright. One a flat cylinder the other appearing to have a ‘D’ shaped cross-section. The flat hoop was a lighter shade of gold, the ‘D’ much darker, almost as though coated in a smoked chrome or something. All the gold appeared solid, even weighty, and so well-polished it appeared practically oiled. It made Yoshi think of Crown Jewels or something of Imperial Divinity. Priceless heirloom rather than store purchase.
“No, sorry. I’ll buy you whatever you like though.”
As the reply finally tumbled from his numb lips, he cast an expansive hand toward the vast display of backlit vessels facing them.
“Nah…” She said.
Yoshi had felt his heart breaking, a lump of iron dropping into the pit of his stomach. But she flashed him a little wink.
“But you know what? We could get out of here… I’m beat after all that dancing. It’s got me all wound up and now… I just wanna fuck.”
He just stared for a moment, mouth agape. Not believing what he was hearing and unable to form any kind of reply.
“So, do you? You’re as good a bet as any of these others. Sure, there are plenty of better-looking guys but once the clothes come off, the looks aren’t as important as what you can do with your dick. You any good at fucking…?”
He didn’t know how to answer that. He had had a girlfriend in high-school, Mido Miyuko and they’d had sex over that summer quite often. But they’d gone on to different colleges, and life had become all study and then all work. No time for dating whatsoever. Internet porn and anime crushes had been his sex life since Miyuko.
“You wanna come home with me, or not?” She asked again, wide eyed. “If you ask me ‘how much’ I’ll make you regret it.”
She eyed him for one more second. He felt like he had swallowed his tongue.
“No strings, no commitment. Just come back with me and fuck. Yes or no…?”
She really was something like an anime-girl cliché, overly vivacious, over-expressive in her mannerisms. Ridiculously gorgeous, with fully adult curves, though somehow childlike at the same time.
“Yes, please. Thank you.”
He felt himself blushing hot and groaned at his reply, even as the words came out. She grinned, though rolled her eyes at the same time. Then took his hand in hers and pulled him away from the bar.
“C’mon then.”
She was shockingly strong. In her grip and in the speed with which she pulled him through the throngs of young men and women toward the exit.

The walk home was quick. She had him by the hand, hurrying through the neon lit streets. A fast walk that, once they turned down an alley, turned into a run. It was only her dragging him along that kept Yoshi on his feet. He was too breathless to make conversation, too blinded by shock and disbelief to take any notice of where they were going. She sprinted up a set of metal fire-escape steps down the back of some alley somewhere and then climbed into a small apartment through the single window.
Yoshi stumbled in after her, catching his breath. Half bent over as he sucked sweet air into his lungs and willed his pounding heart to slow itself down. The deep inhales filled his lungs with unusually sweet scents, gently flowery like jasmine and also something fresh like watermelon and ocean breeze.

Finally, he was able to straighten up and look around. It was a surprisingly empty space. Bed. Closet. Couch. A small bookshelf with a selection of books, many of the spines showing foreign titles not even in Japanese. Some manga collections. A kind of military footlocker lay pushed up underneath the window. It appeared secured with a stout combination lock.
“Well, get your things off.” She breathed. “I wanna see what I have to play with.”
The urgency and excitement colouring the blessing’s voice shocked him all over again, and his attention snapped back to her. She was standing beside her closest, quickly undressing, sliding each item onto its waiting hangar or shelf.
She was already topless and bare legged, standing side on to him. Her torso twisted slightly away so he saw all those fine muscles across her back and the perky jut of the side of one breast. Her tanned flesh, somehow still sweat-oiled from the club, glowed. The skirt flitted down to circle her bare feet.
The highlights, from the bedside lamp, caressed the taut groups of smooth feminine muscle that flexed and rippled with lithe, precise movements. He stood and gawked at her as she grasped the waistband of her G-string and slipped it smoothly down her shapely, well-formed and toned legs; all the way down to her ankles and she more or less bent double. She completed undressing by kicking one foot lightly backward and then the other, kicking that final garment away from her incredible body.
It was only when she paused and turned to face him, naked, cocking a hip and putting a hand there, that he noticed, for the first time, that her hair was pale blue. He couldn’t believe that he had only just noticed. Of course, he was immediately distracted from that thought as he noticed that the little patch of pubic hair, capping her mons, light, sparse and skimpy, was the exact same colour.
“Either strip kid, or I’ll rip them off you.”
Something about the little flash in her blue eyes had him believing her. He started to strip. Even as his eyes locked onto the perfect perkiness of her slightly more than handful breasts.
It was painful. She looked so incredible, naked, athletic, unblemished, stunning. Perfect. And he found it utterly intimidating as he revealed himself in comparison. Skinny, pale, almost hairless. No muscle tone to speak of. Not much to write home about. The only thing he might have going for him was that his erect cock. And it was erect and though probably average in length, it was a little on the thicker side. And he was still young enough that, relatively speaking, he came a lot and could cum often. He also had stamina enough to go more than once without needing to recuperate.
She came straight over, once he had awkwardly pulled off his briefs, and blatantly took hold of his cock in one small hand, assessing. He groaned at the cool, intimate touch. At the close proximity of her, that naturally sweet fresh scent of her. She lifted his meat, swinging it this way and that. She cupped his balls in her other hand, gave them an experimental squeeze. He let out a gasp.
“Right kid, you get to do whatever you like. Nothing’s off the table. My only stipulation is that you get me off too… You wear yourself out and I haven’t cum, well. You won’t like what happens next.”
He felt the intimidation rising again, but it was tempered by three things. First the blue haired girl. Naked and offering herself to him. Second, that when he had been with Miyuko, in that summer between high-school and college, he had got pretty good at making her cum. So, it was a thing he was quietly confident he could manage with this girl, who truthfully trounced all over Miyuko in every conceivable way. Third, his cock was now fully in charge of his brain, giving him confidence and physical desire that saw off all his performance anxiety, uncertainty and stress.
Still, Yoshi stood there like a statue, frozen in utter disbelief - that this was happening to him, that this was real and not some horny fever-dream - while she was busy paying exclusive attention to his dick.
She was jerking his hot, throbbing shaft with a steady rhythm and a delightfully firm grip, while her other hand carefully fondled his balls. And she was really good at it too, firm yet gentle, with great pace and rhythm and plenty of stamina. It felt like she could keep it up all night. And he was under no illusions, something about her grasp and her pace made him believe that, if she wished it, she could bring him to the very peak of orgasm and hold him there, never allowing him to quite reach the top of that perfect tidal wave. It would be the most amazing of tortures.
Though right now it simply felt fantastic. Little glorious electric shocks of erotic pleasure were zipping all through his loins. The pleasure suffused his mind, pink waves of saccharine bliss enveloping him, so that it was all that existed - Yoshi, this amazing young woman and the heavenly world of smouldering pleasure that she was creating around them.
“Why did you pick me?” He gasped.
It came out as little more than a whimper, and he had no idea why he asked.
“You could have any man. Literally.”
“Because you're a loser.”
Her reply was offered simply, straight forward and honest. Fortunately for his ego, she elaborated before he had the chance to deflate.
“The good-looking ones are always arrogant, they think they're ‘God's gift’ as the Westerners say. So, they don't make any effort. It used to be the powerful men that were like that. Now it’s the handsome ones.”
She sighed and her downward gaze went distant for a moment, he could see it through her long, thick lashes. Her slender brows furrowed, and for a time her lush beauty took on a hint of darkness, possibly anger, even potential cruelty. Then her expression abruptly reset, the suggestion of irritation vanishing as though she had emerged from a dream.
“Losers are always so grateful for the opportunity of being with me, that they want to leave an impression. So usually, they really put the effort in.”
He just nodded, silently vowing to make himself one of the memorable ones for her.

She glanced up at him, her manual caresses neither slowing nor growing unsteady. He studied her again. Her face this time. And only in that moment did he recognise how much blue there was. It wasn't just her hair but those thin, expressive eyebrows too, and her eyes. He’d spotted that earlier but hadn’t really paid much attention - the distractions of her body, her natural eroticism and skill at dancing had taken all of his concentration. Her eyes were a light, warm summer-sky blue. Almost the same colour as her hair. Also, the shape of those beautiful eyes, though she was obviously Japanese, appeared almost impossibly large. He was reminded of celebrities like Hamasaki Ayumi and the ‘dolly eyes’ trend. It was very strange and utterly alluring.
At first, he assumed the hair colour and even her pubic hair, when he’d seen it only a moment or two ago, had been dyed in some kind of punk fashion style choice. However, with her eyes only a few inches from his wide and steady gaze, he could see that her eyebrows weren't dyed and there was even a hint of blue in those thick curling lashes. Also, she didn't seem to be wearing make-up. The unblemished quality of her marble smooth, creamy skin was entirely natural. And the blush of hot pink colouring her full lips was not a cosmetic, but simply her.
He confirmed it when she pulled him against her and drew him into a kiss. No taste or adhesive chemical texture of lipstick. Just delicious, delightful softness and heat and talent, that had him loudly moaning out his lust and desire.
She pulled him hard against her, their lips mashing together with sexual aggression, tongues following suit. She smelled sweet and fresh, reminding him of spring rain. Even her saliva tasted good, like watermelon or something. Succulent.
Their kiss drew out, drool flying with their mutual excitement, slick tongues flicking and rolling, stroking. Spiralling frantically like mating serpents. She was panting, little gasping moans, and Yoshi realised that he was making his own grunting moans as well. It was unusual for him. He was always too self-conscious and easily embarrassed to make much in the way of noise. It was like she had unlocked something inside him, along with his pent-up lust.
He turned her and pressed her up against the back of the apartment door. His hands sliding up and down her warm, smooth thighs. One long leg came up, her heel hooking around the back of his knee. His hand automatically slid forward along the underside of her athletic thigh, until he found the abrupt and perfect orb of one buttock. It was smooth and warm as a hearth stone and equally as hard. His mind conjured a metaphor; a campfire in the woods, surrounded by a circle of random rocks, water-smoothed by the nearby stream, and heated by the licking flames.
He shook himself free of the image as her tongue extricated itself from his mouth and her lips began to kiss a trail down his throat. He realised that her hands still grasped his erection and his scrotum, continuing to manhandle waves of electric pleasure into his body. They were distracting him, almost making him feel mindless, so that he felt like he was missing moments in time.

His free hand was mauling her perfect generous-handful breast, squeezing the pliant soft orb so that it bulged between his fingers. The perky teardrop filling his grasp, even with his large hands, felt warmer than her buttocks, which he continued to grasp and fondle with his other hand. The infinite softness was only heightened by how warm that smooth-as-satin her flesh felt.
That warmth heightened as he neared the upturned peaks, surrounded by the blushing dusky pink circles of her areolae. They grew hot as his fingers traced the smoothness, becoming puckered and textural under his caress. Then, as he found the stiffened tips, the little pencil erasers of her firm yet spongy nipples, that increasing warmth was suddenly oven-hot. Shockingly so. Practically burning his teasing, stroking fingertips.
She let out little quivering gasps of pleasure in response to his none too gentle teasing of her nipples. However, as though afraid of spoiling himself with too much of the icing, he spun her around so that she faced the wall, and reasserted his attention on a different ingredient.
Her ass was simply unbelievable, the tautness and muscular perfection of an Olympian level gymnast; combined with the additional bubble-like roundness that was the epitome of pure sexualisation. He feasted on it. First manually, taking a good two-handed grasp and squeezing hard, testing its pliancy, elasticity, the strength of the muscles beneath the soft, smooth skin. She was panting in obvious pleasure, little quivers dancing along her thighs, as well as her shapely forearms and muscle-rippled shoulders.
He spread her delectable buttocks apart. The low lamplight at the perfect angle to illuminate the valley between them. The hairless split peach of her vulva was the same dusky pink as her areolae. The outer lips were already swollen and the neat little inner lips were pouting slightly, pushing forth, gleaming in the lamplight, that dusky invitation slick with her sweetly saccharine scented juices.

His gaze irresistibly followed the delicate, creamy sliver of her perineum to the also blushing star-shaped pinprick of the tiniest little anal mouth he had ever seen. Not that he could attest to seeing many. His ex-girlfriend’s and an admittedly vast number via internet porn. The latter tending toward the ‘letterbox’ or the ‘gape’. This was a tiny Asterix not even the diameter of the tip of his pinky. There was something about it that inexorably drew Yoshi’s attention and made his mouth water, a sweetness, a delight and an enigmatic promise of… something. Something delectable. Divine.
He hungered. And before he knew it, his face was buried in between those two perfect orbs, cupping hands unconsciously doing their best to crush the impossibly pert orbs of muscle.

As his lips pressed against her lower lips, opening to suckle her pussy, his nose touched the heat of her anus. Again, it did not have that usual rank funky aroma, which surprised him. Though that moment was eclipsed by the sheer heat emanating from that pink-corona star of cinched muscle. The tip of his nose practically burning under the touch of her sphincter.
His tongue danced sweeping up and down, her perineum a path between two succulent indents of pleasure. Pleasure for the both of them. She tasted sweet and pure and the heat coming from the valley of her puckered ass matched that of the crisp neat folds of her perfect pussy. He tongued around it, following the smooth shape of her tender labia. Teasing where he assumed her clitoris would be, before dipping back to probe the entrance of her pussy.
He had her shivering and gasping almost immediately at the touch of his lips and tongue, as well as the subtler caress of his frantic, rapid breaths.
She moaned between quick, heavy gasps of her own. Little wails of pleasure - interjections stabbing into the breathy babble - uttered in response to the activities of his lips and tongue, and intense suction on and between her succulent vulva.
She tasted amazing and Yoshi realised that he would be happy to spend an hour or more between these long, perfect, athletic legs with his mouth locked on her core, just sucking and licking at that watermelon flavouring she offered.
He barely felt her hand grasp the back of his head, fingers fisting in his dark brown mop. Though he quickly became aware of the strength in that grip, and how firmly the blessing was pressing his face between her buttocks. However, he was utterly distracted and overwhelmed by the taste and the smell of her, the hardness of the muscles of her ass and how it was a perfect counterpoint to the baby-soft smoothness of the creamy skin covering it.
He gorged himself on her, noisily slurping like a starving man at a banquet, until the girl herself used that tight fist to physically drag his face from her ass.
She pulled him to his feet. Yoshi letting out a whimper of protest and disappointment as he was dragged away from his gratification. She turned to face him, her heavily lidded baby-blues glowing with voracious lust, her cheeks flushed hot with eroticism and her full, slick lips parted.

She shoved him backward two paces across the room until he felt the bed behind him and then beneath him. And she followed him down onto it.
They writhed together. Two pairs of hands roaming over soft, pliant flesh. Fingers and thumbs stroking, squeezing and pinching with increasing firmness, fuelled by virulent passion.
Yoshi wondered how he hadn’t cum already. He had never felt as turned on as in that moment, his cock had never felt as hard as it currently felt since this divine girl had begun to fondle it, and he felt like he was practically pissing pre-cum.
He willed her to suck him, to take him into her sweet mouth until his crown popped into her throat and her tongue slipped past her bottom lip to tease his balls, but the words wouldn’t come. He felt unable to voice the desire. There was a floating silent terror that she might change her mind; that something he said and did might unsettle her, and this would all be over before it truly began. He held his silence.
She didn’t take him into her mouth. Instead, she went straight for the main course, sliding her slender, yet powerful body over him. Her muscled flesh glowing golden and slick in the lamplight as she slid a thigh across his trembling hip so that she straddled him. The head of her pussy practically burned the thick ridge of the trapped underside of his shaft.
He could feel her juices, cool compared to the heat of her glowing flesh, seeping onto his member, pooling into the wiry nest of his pubic hair, trickling down over his tingling balls. His heart was hammering and he couldn’t repress the shivers of pure lust and excitement at the feel of her. The sight and smell of her. The heat of her, her sheer proximity to him.
He reached up between them and cupped her firm breasts, marvelling at their softness, at the fire-heat of her steel-stiff nipples. She slid herself upward, stroking his cock with her splayed pussy lips, continuing forward until his mouth nudged a hard nipple. His opened his mouth and took the bud inside, sucked at it, licked it, teased it, tested its spongy nature with rolled-in lips, nipped it gently with his teeth, held it tenderly between his jaws while the tip of his tongue roved at the sweetly dimpled tip.
He was half aware that she was rocking back and forth, allowing his grip on her nipple to stretch her breast as she rocked backward, while the inner curves of her buttocks and her slick labia caressed his lubricated cock, deliciously stroking up and down at the flange of his swollen crown. She slowed, worked her hips in some way and Yoshi felt the head of his cock suddenly lodged a half inch into an entryway of slick, pulsing heat. He tried to resist the urge to thrust, almost biting down on her hot nipple in his urgency,
“Make me cum.” She whispered in a long, low groan.
And then she jerked down with her hips and his cock was suddenly enveloped into a damp oven of sweltering euphoria. He arched his back, mouth opening in a groan of pure ecstasy, lips releasing her nipple so that her breasts quivered against his face.
The blessing reared up, her hands on his bony chest, fingers splayed, while her buttocks slapped down onto his hips.
From that moment on it was an hour and more or sheer, unadulterated bliss. The feel of her, her expressions, the sounds that came from her sweet mouth. The smell and taste of her. The warmth and strength of her body. The stamina, the speed and dexterity she used to fuck him were all breath-taking. And it added up to an otherworldly experience that he didn’t have words to describe.
Any one of those sensual experiences would have been more than enough to make this better than anything he had enjoyed before, and was. However, each was combined with a score of others. The feel of her pussy muscles caressing him, fist-tight, the blessing lifting herself, her gripping tunnel walls adding a soft, gentle caress as she took him deep into her core. Her juices flowing over his member offered both a faintly acidic tingle and a warm silken caress, like warmed oil being pouring over him and massaged into the sensitive, pulsing flesh of his foreskin and crown.
The hypnotic way her perfect breasts bounced and quivered to her movements. Her fiercely stiffened nipples like rosy pink beacons, holding his eyes. Their up and down, circling motions hypnotic and utterly sexual. Then there was the feel of her tight, athletic buttocks rocking up and down, and back and forth over his hips, the firm smack as they slapped down onto his upper thighs. They felt smooth and soft, yet at the same time hard as stone. Her shoulders, biceps and abdominals, all coated in a thin sheen of sweat, flexed, tautly rocking beneath the perfect creaminess of her smooth, unblemished skin. Each added its own unique sexual flavour.
And then the were the noises she was making, gasping groans, whimpering, panting breaths.

She reached her crescendo, high-pitched whining and soft little curses of rousing extasy. It all went perfectly with her delightful sex face. Short hair, sweat-slicked to a navy-blue shade, flicking and bouncing almost in time with her breasts, the flush to her cheeks, nostrils flared, lips either puckered in effort, or slack with her tongue barely visible between her teeth. Unless she was chewing erotically on her bottom lip.
Her eyes were scrunched shut, tears of exertion caught in the long blue-black lashes, trickles of sweat moving slowly down her temples and cheeks.
Even the parts of her that weren’t her - the way those earrings danced and jangled, the gold sparkling ethereally in the lamplight, the rubies almost following the twin circling erotic dance of her nipples. And the jangling clink of the two bracelets. Far from distracting or annoying, they added their own sweet music to the audible smack of flesh on flesh, and the combined orations of their mutual pleasure.
And again, the gold and ruby cast dancing highlights around the room, on the walls and the ceiling. If the girl wasn’t so all enveloping to his eyes and attention, he might have spent a few seconds marvelling at the patterns of the red and gold playing across the surfaces surrounding them.

Each time she started to rise, riding the ascending rumbles of the coming storm of her orgasm, he could hear her whispering to herself a little mantra, though the words were mostly lost in his own moans and panting exertions. It sounded like “Keep control” and “don’t let go”. Over and over again.
And then when the orgasm struck, her face twisted into a mask of the deepest sexual gratification and passion, and then sheer joy.
It looked to Yoshi as though the greatest of highs had just washed over her. Her body shook and writhed above him, her pussy clamping down like a superhero fist, halfway crushing his swollen, never-as-big-as-right-now cock.
He managed to hold back until she had, by his counting of her mantra, experienced three apparently heady and energetic climaxes. And she was loud too. It stroked his ego, despite still feeling unworthy and somewhat self-conscious.
The third time she ended up laid out flat on top of him, collapsed in a daze. Face buried in the crook of his neck, panting and moaning into his ear. Her hands gripping his shoulders, her thighs splayed outside of his.
Yoshi’s hands cupped her buttocks, fingers spreading them, one fingertip feeling the slickness of where the flesh of his cock and her stretched pussy lips touched, with another finger teasingly stroking and pressuring the hot-point of her tiny anal mouth.
He basked in the sensual glory of her, his senses overwhelmed by her essence. The aroma of her perfect body. The feel of her, warm and comforting even though he sweated under her alluring form. The sense of her physicality, strong and powerful yet lightweight and somehow delicate. Her pronounced, undeniable beauty, even at the odd angle he currently had, from the crown of her head downward. Beauty was beauty, no matter what angle it was observed from.
“Finish off now, kid. You’ve held back long enough. Do what you want to get those balls emptied.” She sighed, barely able to utter the words.
He rolled her over onto her back, moving with her. Her tight pussy gripped him still so he never slipped out of her. He shifted himself so he knelt on his haunches between her spread thighs, enabling him to look down at her face and torso while he fucked her. He filled both hands with her breasts, pinching her stiff nipples between thumbs and fingers. And then he started to rut into her. He was so close to coming now that the grip of self-consciousness had all but released him and he started to grow more vocal as he drove into her, grunting and moaning with his increasing pace and urgency. He burned calories and sweated, using all his energy reserves to pummel her.
Even though she lay exhausted beneath him, she obviously still enjoyed his actions. Her heels pressed into his buttocks, helping him maintain his rapid hammering pace, she held his eyes with his hers, looking up at him through her lashes, her expression smouldering and sultry, the flush still across her cheeks, moaning and chewing on her bottom lip. Then as he hit the crest, slamming into her, going into overdrive, really giving it to her as his balls churned and tightened, she started to arch up under him, gasping and whimpering at his thrusting power.
When he came, she yanked herself all too easily out of his embrace, off his hammering member, and grabbed his balls in one small palm. It was all he needed to let fly. The initial ribbon of semen burst vertically up into the air, something like four feet up. It was a single, heady eruption, a whiplike rope of pearlescent silvery cum that shot up over their heads and then rained down, steaming hot, like a blast of napalm.
As soon as that initial burst left his body, the girl dropped her lips over his shaft, took him immediately balls deep and swallowed again and again around his fully embedded meat, milking the next half dozen of those jetting streamers straight into her stomach. She continued to suck him afterwards, indeed as she went on and on, drawing out every last vestige of his seed, the intense pleasure sent tingles through his loins into his brain, started to get his meat on the way to hardening again, almost straight away.
However, she slid her lips from the root of his cock and sat up straight, legs tucked under her, a satisfied smile giving her lovely features an expression of smug contentment. She eyed his length, pulsing with little teasing throbs and threatening to stiffen up. Smiling, she gave it a light fingertip slap.
“Greedy guts!” She admonished playfully.
Yoshi slumped back on the bed, spent, threat of sleep quickly dragging him down. Still, he felt partially disappointed that their fun seemed to have run its course, at least as far as the stunning girl was concerned. But only partially, after that last ten minutes or so, he was physically exhausted and beneath the pleasant tingles suffusing his entire body, his cock also had a tender itch. Apparently even with all her lubricating juices, it must have been rubbed raw and would require a little rest and recouperation.
“Don’t get comfortable. I’ll be throwing you out in a minute or two.” The blessing said.
It wasn’t spoken callously, just matter of fact. As if from her point of view Yoshi was ‘Job done, off to other climbs’.
“This was great. Fantastic!” He panted, leaning up onto his elbows to take her in. “Maybe we can do this again, sometime?”
She was up off the bed rubbing herself down with a towel. She had already gathered a couple of items from her closet and placed them onto the bed. A loose necked soft woollen sweater, plain white underwear. A fresh pair of hold ups, through normal flesh tone this time and featuring lacy tops. And a little black number that could have been either a miniskirt or a pair of hot pants. Or a handkerchief. Folded into small flat parcel it was impossible to guess.
Remaining silent for another moment, leaving Yoshi wondering if she’d even heard him, she rubbed the sweat from her hair, which now looked closer to turquoise and even perhaps a little longer. An observation Yoshi immediately dismissed. She rummaged her fingers through the mop, teasing it into its attractive wild page-boy look. Then she tossed the towel and grabbed the dark pink sweater, thrusting her arms through the baggy half-length sleeves.
“Hmmm… probably not,”
Her delayed reply came as she paused with the sweater gathered around her neck, about to be drawn down over her golden tanned topless body. She held his eye, gave a little shrug, and a tiny little apologetic look.
“You did pretty well. I’ll admit, I had a nice time. But as the saying goes, plenty more fish in the sea.”
Yoshi knew his face expressed the heart-breaking disappointment he felt at those words. She just shrugged and carried on getting dressed.
“You’d better get dressed.” She nodded her head at the pile of his clothes scattered around the floor.
“I’ll tell you what. I’m all for ‘never say never’, so if I stumble across you again, and I’m in the right mood, maybe I’ll decide to give you another shot. No promises though.”
His grin reflected renewed hope and he sat up, though he couldn’t take his eyes off her. His cock, still tingling, initiated a pretence at resurgence. Pulling on her knee socks, she watched it thickening and lengthening for a moment with a coy smile, but then laughed and shook her head.
“Forget it, I can tell from here you don’t have the energy for another bout. I’d just break you and you’d only piss me off. Like I said, I had a good time, so don’t go spoiling it now, kid.”
He offered a playful pout, his erection now at full mast again. She glanced at him, smiling, took another, almost longing look at his fully engorged state. Then shook her head.
“C’mon, get dressed and go home.”
Yoshi did as he was told, though he found pulling on underwear and trousers extremely difficult with a resurgent erection that simply wouldn’t go down. If it had been Miyuko, or some other girl he’d managed to pick up, he would have requested a quick blowjob to send him on his way. But with the blessing it seemed a risk. Though she didn’t say anything else, even as he dressed himself, he could feel her mood shifting, growing less patient. And even the room seemed to turn colder.

He paused in the door on his way out to cast one last fleeting look her way, she was stretched out on her bed, reading a manga, her startling blue eyes didn’t leave the page. So, he left her behind, heart breaking all over again, as he gently pulled the door shut behind him.
He was halfway across the city, riding the underground before he realised that he hadn’t even got her name.
3 -
Finally shaking free of reliving the best, and in some ways worst, night of his life, Yoshi sipped his rum and coke, trying to calm himself. His cock was straining and he had no doubt that, if he didn’t calm himself, like he had three times already this week, he would cum in his pants at nothing more than the thought of that nameless blessing.

Yoshi watched the silver dressed blonde and the eighties sporty brunette dancing, dividing his attention equally between the two. There wasn’t much else to occupy him, which was disappointing and depressing. Still, they were very attractive sexy girls and they danced very well. Easy on the eye. Before her, he would have been more than happy to spend an evening watching these two moving around on the dance floor. But now, after her, everything seemed stale and dull by comparison, like wearing shades in a dim room. There just wasn’t any colour or vibrancy left. He felt a pressure building and tried to relieve it with a long vocal exhale and then glugged down the last of his drink. Afterward he leaned across the couch’s arm to dump the glass out of the way on the floor.
And then, all of a sudden, colour and vibrancy blazed into the room, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath from Yoshi, at a sight he could hardly believe. The crowds parted like the Red Sea and she emerged onto the dancefloor. All eyes on her, just like the last time.
Her attire was a variation on her previous garments. Hold up stockings that made foglamps of the naked tops of her thighs, dragging the eye and instigating the tongue-out-pant. A cropped long-sleeved pink blouse, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, its length rolled and knotted beneath her prominent bust, flashing a midriff revealing her glistening sweat-oiled sixpack. Yoshi could see only one or perhaps two of the blouse’s buttons were fastened, and the neckline was wide and low. The collar flipped up. The gathered and tied front flaps created a supporting shelf for her immaculate breasts, which Yoshi well knew did not require it. They sat there uplifted and half on display like full beams; upper slopes, almost down to those dusky pink areolae, openly unveiled.
This time, rather than a microskirt she wore pale blue denim cut-offs, with no legs at all, front pocket-lining apparently cut away revealing little crescents of bare flesh at her hips, just a few fibrous strands of blue-white cotton stretching across the very tops of her thighs, cobweb frays dangling like tassels. The fly was zipped only two thirds of the way and the waistband button was unfastened. The only accessory was a length of tiny metallic pink chain that was slung through the belt loops, its ends dangling free by seven or eight inches at her left hip. Her footwear this time was a pair of plain cotton pumps, maybe boat shoes.
Her hair was the same, that right-side swept and wild-styled pageboy cut. Yoshi knew it to be sky blue, but again, under the lights it could be any colour. And from what he could see her jewellery was also the same. The earrings and bracelets. Well-polished, glinting, as though in bright summer sunlight.
All over she seemed aglow, gleaming, glistening. Like a lit coal. As though a naked flame could light her up like some ethereal firework. And all around her people stared, basked, drooled, fantasised. Yoshi didn’t need to. He had his memories.

Finding space as her feet met the dancefloor, her strut became telegraphed, overemphasised steps, hips sweeping like a tight pendulum, foot crossing in front of foot, walk evolving into dance.
Her full lipped smile was as intoxicating as it was infectious. Just about all male and most female eyes locked onto her, tracking just as Yoshi’s were. They were a paparazzi scrum devoid of cameras. Though some phones were surreptitiously raised to capture her.
It was as though no one but her existed in that space, both for him and, he imagined, for everyone else in that moment. Even those nauseating sweeping lights appeared to catch and follow her, some semblance of spotlight illumination. Though it wasn’t real, it was in Yoshi’s mind and in everyone else’s, he was certain.
It felt just like the last time. All eyes on her to the exclusion of everyone else. That Infectious sensuality, like her smile, was a beacon in the dark. It was as though she was giving of a lustrous cloud of pheromone or something.
Not quite dancing yet, her body flowed subtly to the beat of the music track, while she swept her stunning azure-eyed gaze around the place. Predatory beams, like prison spotlights, picking out escapees and drawing them into her net. She caught staring eyes and flashy smiles here and there. Almost at once a few arguments and even a fight broke out. Girlfriends surged with jealousy. Friends fought over who gets first dibs. Enraged slaps, overturned drinks, punches here and there. Wrestling bodies and torn shirts.
As though as an introductory fanfare, the beat shifted. The track-list skipping, as though specifically for the divine blessing, now that she was present. It was a disarmingly fast and erotically heated dance number, bursting like a cum-shot from the speakers. And it hit her like a bolt of lightning. She burst into dance, her body alive, electric, wired. Rhythm, beat and melody in chemical reaction with her overt sensuality.
Instantly surrounded by a score of not exclusively male admirers, the lovely young woman at last starting to dance. Her movements snapped the impromptu entourage into following suit as the whole of the dancefloor began to writhe and gyrate and jiggle.
It was like something out of a movie, or a music video. It left Yoshi almost surprised that the mass dancing wasn’t precisely synchronised, following months of practice, with the blessing front and centre. Dirty Dancing or Saturday Night Fever.
Her dance moves, though not necessarily professionally precise, were intense; naturally sensual and voraciously sexual.
Through her dancing, the blessing soon revealed herself to be supremely athletic, even practically superhuman, as she erotically gyrated and flailed, spinning and swaying with perfect rhythm and balance and grace and poise.
Her immaculate and toned body soon glistened with sweat, as though a sheen of oil coated her skin and turning her already revealing clothing all but translucent.
A lot of the guys tried to join her. To dirty dance. To bump and grind while deliberately copping a feel of her taut young curves. For a while she seemed to be lost in the music, oblivious to everything but the rhythms bursting through her body. And the guys didn’t seem to be able to make an impression on her. And they absolutely couldn’t keep up. There were the snatched caresses, grinding and gropes, but she simply ignored it all. Allowing it, accommodating it into her private performance.
Then some arrogant predatory guy made a much more overt move on her. So much so the she became aware of him. She locked her eyes on his, turned toward him, flashed him a smile and their bodies came together with ferocity. Fused. Thigh pushed between thighs, arms encircling, one hand grabbing a buttock, the other stroking ribs, illicit smoothing of her torso with a palm and fingers, aiming for and finding the outer curve of a shuddering breast. Her arms were above her tilted back head, eyes closed, little smile playing across her full lips. Losing herself in the music almost immediately.
They dirty danced together for only a couple of minutes. Actually, it was more accurate to say he dirty danced against her. Their moves were overtly sexual, however like the others, he wasn’t able to keep pace with her. He grew annoyed at the way her shifting, gyrating body seemed to slip free of his groping embrace, to slide rhythmically out of proximity. As though his gravitational pull wasn’t strong enough to maintain attraction. He started to try and control her body, to hold her against him while he explored her voluptuous young curves. Gripping her tightly he tried to press his lips to hers, while one hand gnarled a breast, cruelly pinching and twisting a stiff nipple through the thin fabric of her blouse.

She didn’t like that. Yoshi grinned.

Without missing a beat, or the rhythm of the pounding, pulsing music, she abruptly floored him with some kind of blurringly quick martial arts-dance combination. He was clutching her to him, feeling her up roughly while grinding his mouth on hers and his rampant crotch between the tops of her thighs, then next moment he was laid out face down on the floor. Unmoving. A broken, crumpled mannequin.
After that he was nonchalantly stepped on and kicked about by the blessing’s other multiple suitors, like some forgotten, misplaced handbag, as the other obsessive dancers continued to crowd in around her, though with a touch more respect. Each of them trying to be noticed. Hoping to be chosen. Eventually a couple of bouncers appeared, took a quick look around the faces of the immediate crowd then shrugged and silently dragged the guy off the dancefloor.
The music changed soon after. It remained somehow tribal and animalistic, but the pace slowed and turned more melodic. Her dance flow followed suit and those around her found it easier to keep pace. The blessing girl dirty danced with half a dozen of them, allowing their groping without concern. She even, as long as it didn’t interfere with the music or her dance moves, allowed some of them to kiss her, quick snatches of hungrily duelling tongues and swapping saliva while her body continued to twist and sway to the music. However, this quickly caused spikes of jealousy amongst the dancers, which caused more animated jostling for position and opportunity around her.
The initial pushing and shoving again led to thrown fists, and one or two thrown bottles. Increasing numbers of young men were dragged away by suddenly overworked bouncers.
Finally, one girl stormed over and dragged her boyfriend away from the blessing girl, who had been dancing with him. The blessing carried on dancing without a care in the world, as the girlfriend screamed and slapped at her protesting, placating boyfriend. That came to an abrupt end when the girlfriend turned back toward the blessing girl, and widening her anger and blame, aimed a hard shove.
Yoshi witnessed the blessing’s eyes flash dangerously as she skipped clear, sidestepping the shove completely. And then she took the jealous girl apart in another devastating flash of bone-shattering violence. The hurt girlfriend, in less than a second, lay like a broken rag doll on the dancefloor. Even then, her boyfriend seemed too besotted with the blessing to berate her very much for the fight. He struggled to pull his girlfriend up off the dancefloor, managing it with the help of another couple of guys. Though Yoshi noticed the helpers sliding their hands all over the girlfriend’s unconscious flesh, snatching surreptitious gropes of thighs and buttocks, and even her small breasts while the upset boyfriend’s attention was diverted. They soon disappeared into the shadowy edges of the crowded dancefloor.
The blessing had nonchalantly dismissed the whole scene and was once again lost in her dancing as if nothing had happened. A whole new group now surrounding her, equally jostling and elbowing each other for position and access.
However, for a moment at least, she appeared to have grown tired of the pubescent satellites of desire circling her, and she pushed herself free and started to work her body even more vigorously, whipping and spiralling in expanding circles, forcing the young men to spread around her in a ring. One or two of them tried to step in close and seize the advantage, but every time one of them got too close, like a meteor skipping off a planet’s atmosphere, she sent them hurtling away from her back into the crowd. Most of them simply enjoyed the view, keeping their distance and watching her dance.
Watching her too, seeing through the fog veil of sexuality surrounding her, Yoshi started to notice that the blessing’s dancing was showing off a strange chronologic. Her moves were a sequential mix of styles, from the rapid Cotton Club dances of the 20’s and 30’s, right through to the acrobatic breakdance styling of the early 80’s, and the contemporary and sensual Latin and Arabic styles, hip swaying and toned belly-dancing gyrations. There was even a little Voguing, though the poses shifted rapidly and fluidly to the fast beat of the thrumming base rhythm.
Yoshi watched, feeling the music vibrating through him as much as hearing it, his dick was still a solid lump in his slacks, the blessing was slowing herself out of a blurringly fast yet perfectly controlled and balanced tiptoe pirouette. And he could almost swear that during the final revolution, she caught his eye and flashed him a wink, lips pursed in a blown kiss. How he down cum in his pants he couldn’t say.
She switched to pole dancing. Swinging up with splayed legs and spinning vertically upward until she was five feet above the ground, then leaning back with her hair almost brushing the disco-lighted dance floor and her legs spread into the perfect horizontal splits. Then she tossed herself out sideways both hands grasping the pole, torso and legs out straight from it, like a flag snapped straight by a strong wind. And then her body started to gyrate. Her taut abdominals rolling, hips rocking and swaying. She let go with one hand, holding horizontal four feet off the ground with her other hand. Her pronounced muscles visible clenched, popping and sculpted into a chiaroscuro, but there didn’t appear to be any tension or struggle in that sculpted perfection. No beading sweat or muscular tremors. She opened her hand, curled fingertips the only contact and somehow started to spin one handed around the pole descending in a spiral in time to the music. At the same time, she slowly rotated her body until she faced the ceiling, her bent legs finding the floor. And then a seamless transition to upright, The pole forgotten the music pulled her into another era, and her hips flicked her hypnotically this way and that in a series of classic moves from the 60’s, the swim, the shimmy, the jerk. The crowd gathered again sweeping in around her, some of them trying to match her moves, though she had already switched through the 70’s and over into 80’s dance style.
It was only after a few minutes of excited and horny observation, though the blessing was often lost amongst the crowd of bodies crushing in around her, when Yoshi realised there had never actually been a pole at all, people were dancing through and around where it should have stood. It was obvious that it was not there, and it had definitely not ascended into the ceiling. Everyone closer, watching her pole dancing skills must have been too drunk or high to have taken notice of the lack of pole. It must have been like an optical illusion to any that had watched. Though beyond the initial realisation, Yoshi didn’t entertain the thought any further. Didn’t try to justify or consider explanations. It was simply a part of her magic. Her mystery. A strange unreality that appeared to surround her somehow.
She emerged from the pile of writhing bodies and 80’s strutted to the fore, slipping into a modern style of shuffling step while the gang of followers flowed behind her like a wave and then around her, orbiting her like a solar body.
Yoshi watched her anew, a grainy newspaper clipping turned to glossy fold-out centre spread. Seeing her, watching her immaculate figure move and gyrate with such blatant sexuality made him groan. Making fists due to his unmitigated need for her, he found himself squeezing so tight, his nails dug into his palms. Back at her apartment, she had shown him the absolute time of his life. The best sex he had ever had. The stuff people fantasied about that real life could never measure up to. And his time with her had seriously blown his fantasies out of the water. It had been mind-blowing, utterly unbelievable.
The following morning once she had gone, he found himself unable to think of anything else. And it hadn’t changed since then. He felt, and was, utterly obsessed with her.
She was young. He had drawn that conclusion the previous week. She was certainly too young to be legally in the club. It had borderline worried him last week. At first. Enigmatically youthful, in Yoshi's opinion she could have been fourteen or eighteen, or anywhere in between. She certainly had the figure of a fully grown adult, yet the face of a still developing teenager. Except the eyes. Those summer-blue eyes. They seemed ageless. There had been an inexplicable inner glow, something that hinted at experience and wisdom that could have stretched across numerous lifetimes. It was an inexplicable thing to gaze into those eyes, peering out from that smooth, beautiful, youthful face.
A couple of days after their one-on-one time together, thoroughly embedded in his rising obsession; he had tried to retrace his steps, to find her apartment again. Not to speak to her. He wasn’t planning to hassle her or anything. It was just to work out her address. Just in case. Perhaps to form some kind of connection.
Of course, he had failed. He had headed in the right direction and found streets that resembled his vague memories. However, those streets and the alleys between them had all looked similar enough to have him all turned around in mere minutes. And there were no specific landmarks he had been able to remember from that night. Eventually, he had been forced to give up and head home.
His only hope after that failure had been to return to the nightclub where they had met and hope she showed up.
Yoshi’s heart had leaped with joy, excitement and hope when he had spotted her. However, besides the smile and wink that could have all been his imagination, she had shown him no attention whatsoever and his hopes quickly became dashed. She was surrounded by a score of young men, many of which were far better looking than him. And she had suggested she might give him another turn inside her, but only if nothing better came along. Well, he was pretty sure that, in her eyes, half a dozen or more better prospects were currently surrounding her, dancing and flirting heavily. All of them wanting her. And he knew he wasn’t about to get a look in.
He was trying to decide what he should do. Try and catch her attention? Try and go over and speak to her? Or just give up and go home. However, she suddenly made his mind up for him.
The dancing ended abruptly and there was a little flurry of movement, it almost reminded Yoshi of Phys-Ed back in school, lined up and being picked for the baseball team. The interaction, whatever form it took ended just as abruptly and the girl slipped away through the crowd with an entourage of five or six young men in tow.
Without much in the way of conscious thought or consideration, Yoshi pulled himself up off his adopted couch and followed them out of the club.
4 -
His mind was awash with conflicting thoughts. He absolutely wanted another chance with her. He was jealous. He was obsessive. He knew and accepted it. He allowed childish fantasies of playing white night to spring forth. Of emerging from the club to spot her being dragged down an alley by the half-dozen horny young men. He would follow them, snatch up a two-by-four or a discarded lead pipe and wade into the rampant crowd of half-naked thrusting male flesh. He would pound those perverts into submission. Then he would carry the blessing, half naked, from their bloody, beaten midst. And grateful for her white-knight’s rescue, she would offer to take him back to his apartment to show her gratitude in the only way she could.
Of course, reality kept the fantasy at bay.
The little gang of young men crowded around the single young woman, who Yoshi couldn’t actually see as the men were pressed in so tightly around her, were a good hundred metres ahead of him a little tightly knitted pack of flashy shirts and jackets and tight trousers. He kept his distance and followed the little gang along the neon-lit street. It was easy to keep them from getting out of sight, even keeping a distance. One of them, a short stocky guy had dyed crimson spikes of hair. And another had long hair in a plait, with some kind of blue ribbon or cloth woven into the ponytail. They stood out even when they were passing through or around another group of weekend revellers.
One thing he did know from early on was that they weren’t headed in the direction of the blessing’s apartment. They had turned the right way out of the nightclub initially, but a couple of streets further along they had been led right instead of left and were essentially heading in the opposite direction.
Inexplicably, the realisation had given Yoshi a warm feeling. As though he had been trusted to share her private place, her bed, and yet these guys weren’t.
He had guessed they would be headed to a love hotel. One of the seedier kinds too. Not really a ‘love hotel’ at all. Not like the high-class kinds aimed towards loving couples, and tourists wanting the native experience. No this was the kind of place that street whores took clients for a half-hour or hour-long stays, no questions asked, no interference.
The crowd disappeared down a narrow side street, not quite an alley, but no wider. Yoshi had to speed up to keep them in sight, and he almost missed them. The walls surrounding the setback buildings in this area were high, the lighting more subdued, the usual masses of neon let go in favour of more modest signage. In fact, there was little in the way of visible advertising.
The front entryway was walled off in plain concrete and the building beyond was covered in a similar frontage. A flat square peak covering the glass frontage, warmly illuminated from within. Only a small simple rectangular neon sign revealed it to be a hotel.
Yoshi only spotted them disappearing inside as the tall guy with the blue-adorned plait strolled up the steps and into through the glass doors, his head and shoulders momentarily appearing above the top of the wall before he followed the others inside.
Yoshi jogged down the street, looking left and right. Then down the alley at the far side of the love hotel. He saw a light come on in an upstairs window and a number of shadows passing back and forth across the beige painted ceiling.
On the opposite side of that alley was a low building, possibly garages or the rear of another commercial property. He hurried to the front, this one was also separated from the alley and the street by a concrete wall, but there was a metal gate. It was locked.
Before his nerve went, Yoshi clambered over the gate and then ran alongside the pale wall of the building, looking for some way to gain elevation. He found it in the form of a fire-escape, that led onto the first-floor roof. He scaled the fire-escape and found himself on the flat roof, which reminded him of his old school. Gravel like surface like a tiered cake, the second floor ascended from the roof but there was a flat space about four metres deep with a low wall as barrier. A single fire door led onto the roof. He hurried over to the low wall and crouched down behind it, finding himself directly opposite the window to the love hotel.
There were blinds over the hotel’s window but they hadn’t been drawn. And with the bedside lamps lit, Yoshi could see clearly everything that was going on inside.
It seemed like he hadn’t been the only one to have decided to use this particular vantage point. There was a small scattering of litter detritus in the gutter between the edge of the roof and its boundary wall. Gum, sweet and cigarette wrappers, cigarette butts, condom wrappers, used condoms, little scrunched up rolls of tin foil. A bent and blackened spoon. No needles, fortunately. He crouched low, fingers gripping the top of the wall, nose level with it, peering intently into the bedroom with the blessing and her pick of eligible young men.
There were seven of them. The blessing, and six handsome and mostly well-muscled young men. All of them were already naked and she was on the large circular bed on her hands and knees while five of the six enveloped her, much like the way had pictured it in his white-knight fantasy.
It was a visual cacophony of thrusting, swinging and gyrating limbs. Lowered heads, flushed cheeks, gritted teeth. And lots and lots of quick rhythmic humping, from pretty much all directions. The girl was hardly visible within the naked scrum of pale male flesh.
It took Yoshi quite a few heart-hammering, half-sickened seconds to really figure out what was being done to the girl and how it was accomplished. He knew she was flexible and strong from his own experience, but the realisation that there were no less than five erect cocks thrusting in and out of her body simultaneously, was hard to comprehend or accept. His first thought was ‘rape’. That there was no way she could be either consenting to this gangbang, or enjoying it. There were simply no circumstances in which he could perceive her getting any enjoyment out of being used in such a rough and probably misogynistic manner.
He used his phone, videoing, using the top of the low wall to steady the device while he zoomed in as close as he could get. It wasn’t a great picture but the zoom allowed him to catch enough close up detail to see which cocks were pumping where, how deep, how hard, how brutal. It made him sick and guilt-ridden and angry. And at the same time horny.
Two of them had long skinny erections, three shorter but thicker, at least by comparison. The gang of young men seemed to have organised themselves quickly and effectively. And Yoshi wondered if they had done this before. Maybe many times, they seemed to be that accomplished and organised. He could easily imagine them getting unsuspecting girls drunk or high, then dragging them off to a hotel or one of their apartments so have their way with them, gangbanging them all night.
The blessing, on her hands and knees, had three cocks between her thighs and the other two at her mouth. The bulkiest of the bunch of rapists was underneath her on the bed, her legs spread outside his hips while he thrust into her pussy from underneath, his hands cupping her generous-handful tits and giving them a good firm squeezing. Pinching and pulling at her stiff nipples.
One of the guys with a long cock was at an angle in front of her face, his knee pressed in close to the head of the guy underneath her, while the other guy was kneeling alongside him forming a triangle around her head. There were four hands gripping her head, handfuls of her pretty hair grasped tight, pulling her this way and that, left and right, back and forward. It was a tricky angle to be certain but Yoshi could almost swear, by their simultaneously jerking hips, that they were both somehow sawing their cocks in and out of her stretched open mouth at the same time. The short guy on her right getting in close while the lad with the longer cock was still able to jerk his circumcised crown back and forth between her wide splayed lips.
Of course, Yoshi had seen it done in porn clips. Both pixilated ones and illegally viewed uncensored American stuff, that showed everything in extreme detail. And better yet the Italian stuff with the production values and all the most beautiful women, those ones that seemed to have a prerequisite that the actresses have to take it in the ass in every film. Those Italians were the best. Even though it felt kinds of alien to watch western women. It just wasn’t that same as seeing dirty Japanese girls taking it, the kinds of women and girls he passed on the street every day, in the underground, in stores.
Why couldn’t the blessing have just sought him out? He had showed her a good time last weekend. They could have had plenty of fun again and he could have given her all the orgasms she could ever want. Instead, there she was being gangraped by five young men, and it would probably go on for hours, every position, every combination, six dicks, three holes. How many possible combinations was that? And they had all the stamina of drunk and horny young guys. The six of them in total control of her and of her amazing young body. And the blessing, powerless to defend herself. And there was nothing he could do about it. Call the police?
The other two were disgustingly, though somehow also impressively, managing to shove both of their cocks up the girl’s ass hole at the same time. Again, it was one of the guys with a short erection, who was squatting over her hips, driving in and out of her anus from above. He almost looked like he was riding her like a horse. Bouncing up and down like on an invisible saddle.
That left the long cock guy, the fifth and final one, who had shuffled up behind her buttocks, sandwiched between the guys right in front of him and the hips and thighs of the guy underneath her. He was still thrusting upward with a slow and careful rhythm, probably being careful not to get pushed out by the two sodomisers. It was only because the third guy’s cock was longer than average that he was able to get in close enough to push into the blessing’s wide stretched anus, forcing his way underneath the fast-humping cock of the horse-rider. Yoshi was somehow sickened and excited at the same time.
Would the police even respond to a report from an anonymous voyeur looking into the upstairs window of a love hotel? What if they would need him to provide evidence in court? Besides, the foolish little bitch left with them voluntarily, there would be plenty of witnesses in the club. She could have gone to him and she would be fine. She would be bouncing away happily on his dick just like the previous weekend and having the time of her life. Rather than what she was currently being subjected to.
The guys, all five of them, were thrusting fiercely, rapid strokes, though only the saddle-riding anal guy appeared to be managing any depth with his cock. The multiple hands all over the girl’s lush, creamy skin were leaving behind red marks as they grabbed and squeezed her tight, while her sweat darkened blue hair was gathered in tufts in the fists of the two lads driving their cocks back and forth in her mouth.
Yoshi squirmed with equal parts horniness and redundant rage at his blessing’s rampant abuse. She was being used like a piece of meat, no respect, no adoration, nothing she deserved. And yet she had chosen to go with them.
Besides, when he watched her body carefully, he could see that she was herself rutting away between the hot pounding bodies of the lads with impunity, deliberately and urgently rocking back and forth on her hands and knees, with a passion and impatience he recognised from his own night with her. So, was it really a gangrape after all? Or perhaps she was just trying to get them off as quickly as she could, get the whole vicious experience over and done with?
And what about that sixth guy? He was just standing there, leaning against the wall. He appeared to have the biggest dick of all of them, but he was only half hard and was just watching patiently. As though he was waiting for the riffraff to finish with her before he had his turn. He looked older and there were tattoos on his shoulders. Yakuza? He was short and squat with very well-defined muscles, as though he spent hours per day in the gym. He also sported an oiled curly-haired mullet. Like he was a fan of Americana or something.
He was watching the action on the big circular bed with interest, a little smirk playing across his lips, his eyes were practically aflame with his own sexual desire and he was idly working the fingertips of one hand up and down his half hard member. He was definitely not willing to join in the group and it seemed a fair assumption that he was waiting his turn, waiting for the other lads to have enjoyed their climaxes so that he could have her all to himself. Something strange happened, the patient Yakuza suddenly appeared to bulge, just for a second, his belly appearing to bloat. Yoshi thought his tired eyes were playing tricks on him.
The lights went out.
There was a moment, when the blessing appeared to be ramping up her own activities as the meat in the lad’s sandwich. Her body thrashing, the lads appearing to find it hard to keep her under control and to keep their thrusting erections inside her. They started to use more force and weight to keep her secure beneath them, but they were having a hard time of it.
And then everything went black.
At first Yoshi thought the lights in the room had gone out. And they had, but after a moment of confusion he realised that, in fact, all the lights in the love hotel had gone black. And even the closest streetlight that he could see. A power cut? There were blue flickers from inside the room, that caught his attention and half blinded him in the sudden pitch darkness.
Again, Yoshi’s mind, trying to make sense of things, thought that maybe someone was using their phone light. But they were more like freakish bolts of lightning, momentary flashes of blue-white, that left nothing but a residual inky blackness, and afterimages behind his rapidly blinking eyelids.
He peered into the blackness of the room, detecting some kind of motion but nothing he could put his finger on. Then there was another blue-white flash, this one lasting half a second. It allowed his mind to register an image, as though catching a spliced single frame of pornography in a children’s cartoon. What was that from…? Something with Brad Pitt. He couldn’t remember.
He saw it all in flashes, singular moments, like images on a roll of film, lit up by the strange flashes of lightning. He saw splashes of gore, torn scraps of flesh, parts of severed limbs, a head on a blood sheeted pillow. Eruptions of arterial blood, like full tins of black paint splashed over the walls. Even on the ceiling.
He saw the blessing, naked, her body a sheen of oiled or sweat coated skin. And something else, something large and shadowy keeping to the gloom on the left. Though slick, mottled flesh caught flashes of blue-white wet highlights, glistening. Details or recognition was practically impossible.
It wasn’t human or in fact like anything you would expect to see through a bedroom window. There was no starting point for the brain, nothing to latch onto. Possibly an eye, possibly some wispy hairs. Limbs that moved in a flexible serpentine way, boneless. Like tentacles. He found himself grinning at a silly thought, that it could have been an octopus… except it was larger than human size and out of water.
Everything was dark again and he stared mindlessly into the wide rectangle of the lightless window, trying to remember what he had witnessed, trying to make sense of it. The blue-white glares, like an old flashgun or strobe light, had almost looked like rapid streaks of ball lightning. At least that’s how he was picturing them as he looked into the blackness.
It brought into mind sudden memories of playing Street Fighter, and the Hadou move, firing spheres of blue lightning across the screen. Chun Li’s skirt flaps whipping up and flashing her underwear as she bent forward and launched her own spheres of chi lightning.
A sudden explosive shattering of glass, thousands of shards filling the space between the love hotel window and Yoshi’s roof, cut through his warm reminiscing. There was a little yell, light and girlish and an inhuman response, like the hissing of air out of an innertube, along with other sounds, a kind of wet slapping, a phlegmy exhale.
Then, almost faster than his eye could detect, a blur shot out of the window and up into the sky overhead. It was pale, tan flesh coloured with perhaps a streak or two of blue and perhaps a couple of streaked pinpricks of gold. His mind told him what it was, but his consciousness wouldn’t accept. Even when he looked up, trying to follow that streak of coloured motion, and caught a thousandth of a second glimpse of a tanned female body, impossibly perfect in its shape and short blue hair. A skimpy, light-blue pubic mound. And then it was gone and his mind was again reeling against what his eyes had witnessed.
There was nothing else for it. He ran over to the fire-escape and rattled his way down it, not caring about the noise he was making. The street lights in the area were on again, and so was the love hotel’s lights, except for the pitch-black interior of the upstairs room.
Yoshi ran around to the hotel’s entrance, skirting the inside of the wall, looking across the gloom of the grounds, his gaze always glued to that smashed side window. Coming around underneath it, his shoes crunching on thousands of glinting shards of broken glass, he spotted a plastic drain pipe stretching upward, not far from the window frame, and made a beeline for it. Stopping in front of the tall black plastic cylinder, the girth of a champagne bottle, and taking a breath, he hooked his fingers around the grimy rear of the drainpipe, scraping his knuckles of the painted concrete behind it. And, using the soles and insteps of his shoes to grip the drainpipe and the wall, he started to shimmy upward, climbing just as he had the trunks of the cherry trees in the city park that he used to climb as a child, when his parents took him out for the afternoon on occasional summer weekends.
It was a long way up, but the drainpipe was solidly fixed and didn’t show any heart-fluttering signs of give. He focussed on the window ledge above him, refusing to look down and finally was high enough up that he could see over the lip of the window.
The smell struck him first. Thick and heavy and metallic, the stench of blood, with residue scents of other bodily fluids as an undercurrent. And also, the strange chlorine stench of ozone. Wrinkling his nose, Yoshi stretched himself up until he could see inside, beyond the jagged edges of the window’s carcass, past the remaining shards of the glass, he peered into the gloom.
Though the lights in the room were still out, there was enough residual illumination from the streetlights behind him to allow him to view the carnage within more clearly. There were two distinct groupings of gore.
To the right of the room, scattered over the bed, the floor around it and the walls and ceiling were the mangled, desecrated, shredded corpses of the blessing’s chosen human lovers. Yoshi thought back and counted out the six young men who had left with her. The five who had shared the bed with her. It weas impossible to tell from the eviscerated pieces how many there were, they were six separate jigsaw puzzles, tossed randomly across the bed. There was a decapitated head on the pillow, shredded skull-less eye-less face flesh stuck to the wall almost about upside down and slipping down its wallpaper with inexorable slowness. Limbs and entrails and even genitals dotted around, while trailing loops of glistening intestines, like pale motionless worms were strewn all over the place.
On the left side of the room, though still mostly concealed in ink deep shadow, was something else entirely. Something not human. Though no less dead, no less eviscerated. And it really did, though loosely, resemble a gigantic mutated octopus. A flabby, fleshy globular body, wide bulging dead eyes. A fleshy beak, filled with nipple-like feelers rather than teeth, and a score of tentacle limbs of varying shapes and lengths. Though each of them was tipped by a recognisable and very human looking phallic glans. Whatever it was, it was definitely dead, even though the fleshy bulge of its mottled torso still glistened with ichor.
Even more than the shocking, stomach-churning charnel house sights of the room, were the sounds and the smells emanating from the it. And that definitely affected Yoshi the most. That heady metallic smell of blood and offal was thick in his nostrils, clagging almost physically at the back of his throat like the acid bite of bile, and somehow spreading as a pressure headache through the bridge of his nose and across the breadth of his brow, making his eyes itch and stream, and his temples throb.
Those wet squelching drips, a score of them from a score of different locations and surfaces, filled his ears. The viscous squelchy auditory weight of gore seeping into the fabric of the mattress. While the weight of intestinal contents pulled pale coils of muscle over the side of the bed onto the blood-soaked carpet. It all collaborated to bring up Yoshi’s gorge and he found himself gagging as a wave of lightheaded-ness and dizziness overwhelmed him.

Before he knew the danger, his grip on the drainpipe slipped and found himself airborne, falling away from the hellscape of the window. Momentarily thankful for the breath of fresh air.
However, the gratitude lasted only a heartbeat as his body struck the broken-glass covered concrete slabs beneath him.
His pelvis and spine smashed a split second before the bounce brought the back of his skull into contact with solid ground, shattered the plates at the rear of his skull and drove them like spearpoints into his brain.
As the life slipped slowly out of his broken body, Yoshi’s eyes gazed up into the night sky. And he saw the blessing looking down at him. A splendour framed by blackness. Her perfect tanned skin sheened with moisture and showing off those mouth-wateringly sensual curves, and that sexy blue pixie hair, that matched the little tuft of hair at her pubis.
His eyesight was fading but somehow that vision of incomparable beauty remained stark and heart-breaking for him. There was a strange almost smile on her full lips while her big blue eyes looked almost sad. She gave a little shake of her head, possibly something like exasperation. Maybe even regret. But then she disappeared into the ether.
Seconds later he was dead and it didn’t matter anymore.
5 -
Megumi looked down at the broken body of the young human and frowned. How did that happen? Had he been in the room and been thrown out of the window somehow? She didn’t think so. Then again... He did look familiar. It was a shame. She had been having fun those guys, then one of them turned out to be a bastard Makai and spoiled everything. Distracting her so she wasn’t able to redirected her climax safely inwards.
Still, at least she had taken out another dumb, low-ranked slime ball. One less problem visitor to the human realm. How many had she dealt with in the last three hundred years? She didn’t even know. Countless.
“Ah well.” She muttered to herself. “Better get back to my place, get some fresh clothes. Actually, do I have homework? I’d better check that too… School in the morning, after all.”
The End.
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Urotsukidoji - Wandering-Girl wanders into a club.