Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

I’m a proud nineteen year old Japanese young woman, born and raised in Tokyo, but I never really felt that I truly belonged there. My wild and free American soul has always felt constrained by Japanese customs. That’s why I moved to the United States. Yes, I’m a typical petite long haired Japanese woman raised by traditional parents, but according to my mother, I’ve always been a ‘willful and disrespectful child.’ I love American music and culture and the freedom to be true to yourself. I tried it once, hanging out with the Harajuku crowd with my pink wig and outrageous clothes until my parents found out and forbade me from ever doing it again. I just wanted to be me. So I hatched a plan to go to America as a student. I secretly applied for a student visa and to several American universities. I was accepted to three in California and when I informed my parents of my plans, they weren’t very supportive. They said they weren’t paying for it and if I wanted to go, I’d have to finance it myself.

In the summer after graduating from upper secondary school, I worked at my father’s company as a receptionist. My father’s associates, all older men, wanted to date me; propositioning me with dinners, offering money and gifting me with luxury handbags and such. That’s when I got the idea that perhaps an older man or two or three could help finance my American education. On the internet, I discovered the term for what I had in mind; a sugar baby. I found a sugar baby website, uploaded some photos of me in my uniform, in casual street clothes and in sexy lingerie and received a few replies. Three lonely men in the San Francisco bay area said they would pay thousands of dollars for my company. With their support, my savings and a couple of scholarships I received, I could pay for everything; tuition, books, food, and a room in a campus dormitory. So I said yes to UC Berkley’s acceptance letter, told my crying mother and stoic father that I was leaving, packed up things, and left Japan to start a new life.

One of my sugar daddies, Mr. Singh, works in Silicon Valley. A generous man in his early thirties, he’s the youngest sugar daddy who doesn’t have time to date as he works at a computer company all of the time. He likes to lie around nude in the bed all weekend when I come to his house. He plays video games and has me lick whip cream off his genitals like a cat. I usually spend a weekend a month catering to his needs. The other man, Mr. Cooke, lives on a houseboat in Sausalito. He’s a silver haired man in his late fifties who owns a lot of land. He likes to bike, bar-b-cue and get blow jobs. I do my very best to please. But my favorite sugar daddy is Mr. Sager.

Mr. Sager lives in San Francisco. Every other Friday night, he sends a car to my dorm and I’m ferried across the Bay Bridge to his luxury apartment on Clay Street. Mr. Sager is a pleasant man in his early fifties with a fit body, steel grey eyes, and short blondish brown hair. When we get together, he speaks in fluent Japanese. It’s nice to speak to someone in my native language. Upon our first date, he explained to me that he loves Japan, having worked there several years as an executive in a car factory. He especially loves Japanese women. His wife was a geisha who he met when the other executives took him to a tea house tended by traditional geishas in Kyoto. He fell in love with her grace and beauty as she entertained them with a fan dance. After wooing her for many months, she agreed to marry him. They returned to the States when his contract was over. He says I remind him of her. She loved American culture and music too. And though she was a well-trained traditional geisha, she had a bit of a wild side. Her favorite artist was Prince. The two had fifteen good years together before she passed away from cancer.

When I go to Mr. Sager’s home, he has me dress in one of his wife’s many kimonos. I’ve worn kimonos before, upon my mother’s insistence, for family portraits and spring ceremonies. She taught me how to tie an obi as her mother taught her. I find kimonos constrictive and too old fashion though if I have a daughter, I will teach her the proper way to put on a kimono and take pictures of her to keep our tradition alive. I usually dress in a blue silk kimono with pink chrysanthemums but this being Valentine’s Day, he had me dress in a red silk kimono adorned with sprigs of white cherry blossoms. The slippery smooth white silk interior caressed my naked body as I secured the wide gold obi around my waist. Within his bathroom, I pinned up my hair up as best I could though it did look somewhat sloppy with tendrils of hair trailing around my temples. I pushed the beautiful geisha ayvalık escort hairpin with dangling silver beads and a cluster of tiny flowers into my hair before starting with my make-up. With a sponge, I applied the milky white liquid makeup to my face and lips. With a smudge of pink pencil on the outer corners of my eyes and a line of black liquid eyeliner applied with a steady hand, I ended the make-up routine by applying a small red heart of lipstick on the middle of my lips. I looked at myself in the mirror. This is as geisha as I can get. I heard the bell tinkle outside the bathroom door. It was time for the tea ceremony.

Dressed in a comfortable pair of grey sweat pants and a t-shirt, Mr. Sager was seated at the low, narrow candle lit table where the tea utensils, kettle and various bowls of water were neatly laid out in a row. I bowed before kneeling across the table from him and began the tea ceremony. A proper tea ceremony has far too many steps for me to remember so we shortened it to a manageable style. He watches me intently as I wash my hands in a bowl of clean water and dry them on a hand towel. Then I rinsed my mouth with water from another cup and spat it back into the cup which I set to the far side of the table.

It’s hard to keep my kimono’s sleeves from dragging across the table but that is part of the art of proper tea service. With my right hand, I pick up a small ceramic cup called the chawan. I warm it by rubbing it in between the palms of my hands. Then I set down the chawan and scoop the macha, a powdered green tea, into it. With a wooden ladle, I scooped boiling hot water from the open kettle to pour into the chawan. Then I pick up a bamboo whisk and whisk the macha and water as Mr. Sager silently watches. I stop when foam froths in the center. I set down the whisk to my left before picking up the chawan with my right hand. I place it on my left palm, turn the bowl two times and then turned my head away from him as I lean forward to place the finished tea in front of Mr. Sager. I bow before sitting back upon my heels. Mr. Sager bent forward to retrieve his cup of tea. It is now the proper time to talk.

He asked, “How was your day?”

“Good.”

He sipped his tea. “The tea is very good. Thank you.”

I closed my eyes and with a demure smile, gave him a slow appreciative nod.

“Sit,” he said.

I sat upon my behind with my legs tucked beneath me.

“Happy Valentine’s day, Mariko,” he said. “Do you like chocolate?”

“I love chocolate.”

He reached behind him to an end table beside his couch and opened a drawer. He pulled out a gold box of chocolate, placed the box upon the table and opened it to reveal the marvelous pieces of hand crafted candy. He took out a piece and held it out towards me. I leaned over to accept it with my mouth, grasping it gently between my lips. It began to melt on my lips before it even hit my tongue. He gazed at me as I sat back, gently chewing the delicious melting milk chocolate. He placed the lid upon the box and slid it my way.

“For you.”

I covered my mouth full of melted chocolate with my hand as I replied, “Thank you.”

He sipped his tea as he watched me eat.

After I swallowed, I said, “The first English word I ever learned was ‘chocolate.’ My great grandmother taught it to me. She told me that chocolate was the first English word she’d ever learned. She said American GIs gave her chocolate when they came to Japan after the war and whenever one showed her any attention in the streets, she’d ask him for chocolate.”

He smiled. “So your great grandmother liked white men?”

“I think she liked chocolate better.”

His chuckles caused me to chuckle too. There is a gentleness about him that I find appealing. We continued with our casual conversation as he sips his tea and once he finished, I cleaned up as per the prescribed tradition, taking the tray of tea implements into the kitchen to return with two earthen bowls of water to clean our mouths.

From his living room, he called out, “Hey, Mariko. Pour me a shot of Jameson, the liquor in the green bottle. And bring a small bowl of sesame seed oil when you return.”

“Okay.”

I opened a few cabinet doors before finding the oil which I poured into a small soup bowl. I poured him a drink and set it on the tray then returned to his living room with the two bowls of water, his drink and the oil that he’d requested. I set the bowls and his drink upon the low table while he retrieved a fan shaped red lacquer box from his desk. He set the box on the table and sat on the ground beside it, patting the carpet escort ayvalık beside him for me to join him. I did. He opened the box to reveal a set of four calligraphy brushes, a shallow white ceramic tray, and vials of black ink. He poured some water into tray before adding thick plops of ink.

“This was my wife’s calligraphy set,” he said, mixing the ink and water with a brush. “She was very talented. Much of her work was on silk. She sold her handmade scarves at the Treasure Island flea market.”

“She must have been really good at it. I was never good at calligraphy. My teacher said I was too heavy handed.”

“Remove your obi and open your kimono, please.”

I quietly stood and untied my obi sash as he watched. I set the obi upon a chair and allowed the kimono to fall open, exposing my pale nakedness to him. He appreciated me with his eyes.

He said, “Lie down on your back.”

I reclined upon the carpeted floor. He leaned over me and flipped open one side of the kimono and then the other to reveal my slender body. I remained perfectly still. My pale pink nipples began to stiffen under the cool air chilling my skin. Mr. Sager picked up his liquor and sipped his drink as he gazed at my nakedness in the flickering candle light. He set the drink aside and bent over me. His face hovered above my breasts. His hot breath graced my skin before his pursed lips descended to caress a nipple with the gentlest of sucking kisses. They hardened beneath his touch. After his lips left my breast, he sat up and pulled the calligraphy set to the edge of the table. He took a brush and dipped it in the ink.

“Aiko taught me calligraphy with these brushes. She’d have me write poetic lines upon her body.”

Starting on my left shoulder, he inked dashes and upturned lines over my skin with precise little strokes as he slowly worked his way over my chest. The strokes tickled but I remained absolutely still as the brush swirled.

“Spring snow on plum blossoms,” he reverently said as he penned the elegant Japanese characters upon my trembling skin. “A pretty child eating strawberries. The blue of a robin’s egg. Shaved ice served in a chilled silver bowl. The lilt of a solitary flute.”

His words were soothing. These are the things that endear me to this man.

The brush swishing over my skin was a teasing tormentor. The strokes went down my torso to my pelvis where he lingered before dipping his brush back into the ink to continue. He returned to my collarbone where he stopped to kiss my untouched nipple, sucking it harder this time before he began to write more prose across my heart.

When the front of my torso was covered in the now dry inked words, he sat back to enjoy his drink and gaze at his handiwork. I must’ve looked a fright lying there in kabuki make-up with my chest covered in black ink scrawls. But he looked at me as one would their adored pet. He set aside his now empty glass before picking up the thickest brush in the set and licking the brush’s long black lacquer handle. He slid it down between my pussy lips. He pressed the black handle into my pussy folds until it was surrounded by my flesh. Then he began to rub it up and down. It slid over my pink bud of my womanhood until the handle glistened with my nectar now flowing from being aroused. It was hard to suppress the arousal from his perversity.

He left it there, sticking up like a black pole in the apex of my thighs, as he stood up to strip off his shirt. He pulled down his sweats to reveal his fully engorged penis sticking out in full attention. It bounced against my hip as he dropped onto his knees beside me. He pulled out the brush and set it aside before gently splitting my legs. He crawled in between my legs, His face went down upon me. His tongue burrowed into me, licking my most sensitive parts as he split open my folds with his prying fingers. I tried to remain still but I was becoming more and more aroused as his tongue swirled over my now enlarged pink bud. My hips shifted as I squirmed. I tried to distract myself by turning my head to stare at the flickering candle while my womanhood twitched with excitement from his licking and sucking of my hidden bud. No other man has done this to me before. I closed my eyes and enjoyed it. My little whimpering mews echoed in the quiet room. Then his tortuous tongue stopped as he sat back with outstretched legs.

“Come here. Lick my balls.”

I got up onto my knees, my tight vagina now sloppy with wetness. Once I maneuvered myself between his thighs, I took his burgeoning penis into my hands and held it up as I lowered my head to lick his balls. ayvalık escort bayan I licked him in long laps like a dog before sucking at one ball and then the other. After a minute or two, his hand extended down to my head. He grabbed my hair to lift my mouth from between his thighs and guided it down onto his penis. I’ve only had one boyfriend in my life, and have only practiced oral sex on Mr. Singh, so I did what makes a man moan. I bobbed my head up and down over his shaft, cushioning it from my teeth with my lips and never letting the tip leave my mouth. Then I deep throated him and vibrated my throat with a moan. With my small mouth full with his dick, I rippled my tongue beneath the shaft and pressed it under his head.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he rasped in English.

I did it some more, sucking and stroking it with my hand before he groaned, “Get on top of me.”

My mouth released his hard dick that plopped down upon his groin as I crawled on top of him, draping the bulky kimono behind me over his thighs. He held it up as I positioned myself over him to slowly slide the smooth mushroom tip into me and on down his fleshy shaft. His face was caught up in a silly look of lust as his fingers dug into my hips, hoisting me up and down his long manhood. It felt so incredibly good that I threw my head back as my muscles clenched onto him. My bun began to loosen. The hairpin fell to the floor and my heavy hair tumbled freely down my back. His strong hands reached up to fondle my breasts as I rode him like a horse. My nipples popped out between his fingers until he let go them to slide them down my body. One hand gripped my hip once more while his other hand gravitated to my split crotch. His thumb pressing against the sensitive pink bud which caused me to jerk with an electric charge that surged throughout my body. An orgasm was building, squirming inside me like a tumbling fish deep down in my loins, and I welcomed the release of sexual tension after a stressful school week. But he cruelly withdrew his thumb to grip my hips and suddenly pulled me off of him.

I landed on my knees beside him as he scrambled to his knees behind me. He positioned me into a huddling a squat, pushing my shoulders down until my knees hugged my chest. I fought for balance until he nuzzled his body up behind me to steady me by pressing his chest into my back. He yanked the kimono from my shoulder which he kissed with a hungry mouth. Then he reached under between us to pull up the kimono to access my bare bottom. I felt his pubic hair rub against the small of my back. Nudging me forward, he slipped his hand between us to rub sesame seed oil upon my puckered anus. My eyes widened in the surprise at the slippery oil being slathered beneath me. He slipped an oily finger up my anus several times. Once my private parts were covered in oil, he placed chin over my shoulder. He took the thickest calligraphy brush from the table and placed it in my mouth like a horse bit. Then he pushed his big penis up into my anal hole. I bit down upon the black lacquered wood, grimacing in pain. He held me in place, wrapping his arm around my neck as he pushed his hard shaft further into me, then pulled it halfway out to then shove it further past the tight ring of muscle. His wife’s name floated on his hot breath into my ear.

“Aiko, Aiko.”

The pain became pleasurable as my oily loins loosened from his penetration. He moved it slowly in and out, in and out until, with the cushion of silk between us. Surprisingly, my anus began to quiver. And then something unexpected happened. My vagina became to quiver as well as an orgasm spread throughout my nether regions. It spasmed with an unexpected climax and I softly whimpered with the brush clenched between my teeth.

“Ohhhh,” I cried out with a muffled cry, shuddering from this unexpected climax vibrating through me.

He cradled me to his body. “Shhh, shhhh,” he shushed my ear.

He thrusted up one last time before suddenly going still. His arm tightened around my collar bone as I remained impaled upon his hardness. He held me tight as he groaned into my ear, licking it before a gentle bite. His penis throbbed inside my tightness as he filled me with his hot seed. My hole completely filled, it oozed past his shaft still lodged deep inside. When he was completely spent, and his tremors had ceased, he tugged his sticky limp manhood from my raw but still tight hole. He let go of me where I fell onto the kimono panting and delirious. He eventually joined me, wrapping his arm around my waist to pull me close to him where he spooned me against his warm body. I was concerned that the ink and oil, makeup, and our filth would soil the pretty kimono but he didn’t seem to care. And as the city sounds flowed into the quiet dim room, we laid there in a tender embrace and watched the candles burn. I felt relaxed and loved, caressed in red silk, as though here is where I truly belong. Such was my Valentine’s Day.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32