Employees of the Rising Sun

Kenji Sukiyaki's hands trembled as he pushed the doorbell to the Human Relations suite of offices. His knees trembled almost as badly as his arms. He felt great shame at what he had done. He was only a humble salaryman. How would he feed little Sashimi, Sake and Miso if he lost his job at the Yukio Mishima Corporation?

The door was opened by an archetypical female Mishima employee, She wore a blue blazer over a blue and white-checked schoolgirl micro-kilt, which was the mandatory uniform for all female MishimaCorp employees. Said micro-kilt did little to hide her long, smooth, and well-toned thighs. Kenji didn't know who had designed these kilts, but he wanted to shake the man's hand, prostrate himself before him, and buy him a bellyful of hot sake.

Her hair was of course jet black with streaks of purple, green, and red. "Frau Himmler-san will see you now," MishimaCorp's well-toned corporate lackey announced and beckoned Kenji to follow her. He would have followed those swaying thighs into the very depths of hell, so the gesture was superfluous.

They arrived at the office of one Valkyrie Himmler, ACE. The brass plate outside her office Identified her position as "Director of Human Relations."

"Go on in, she is waiting for you, Kenji's guide said in a vaguely frightened voice. She turned and began to walk in the other direction. The walk soon became a trot and then a sprint before she disappeared around the corner of the corridor.

Kenji pushed the door open and was greeted by a woman with false golden hair, which was pulled back into a severe bun. Based on he roundness of her eyes, she appeared to be at least half gaijin, which was the Japanese word for foreigner, at least that's what they told the gaijin. Secretly, the word meant belly-crawling retarded shit-pig, surely a more apt description.

Frau Himmler carried a riding crop, with which she rhythmically slapped her left palm, although Kenji knew of no riding stables at MishimaCorp. She wore thigh-high riding boots that only served to emphasize the smoothness of her thighs beneath her kilt.

Kenji could feel the sexual tension in the air and knew she longed to break him, to bend him to her will, to dominate him completely. He wondered if she had received the memo that World War II was over, and that it had not gone well for either the Kraut gaijin or Japan.

She came to full attention with a click of her heels, and her hand shot up in a Nazi-style salute. Kenji did the same.

"Do you know why you are here, worm?"

Kenji, who was by now cowering on the floor, shook his head.

"Did you not tell Tamiko Teriyaki that you liked her hairstyle? Did you not tell Gogo Yubari that she had a nice smile? Is that not the reason she slammed her twenty-pound spiked mace against your head, rippling your face apart?"

"Hai, Himmler-san!" Kenji said, pressing his forehead so hard against the floor in abasement that it was amazing that he did not bore a tunnel into the Receivables department below them. Judging from the erotic moans Kenji heard penetrating right through the floorboards and their concrete underpinning, not only the floorboards were being penetrated, but the personnel of the Receivables department were living up to their job titles, literally. Over and over again.

"You will address me only as 'Mistress,' and you must use the proper honorific. Do you understand me?"

"Hai, Mistress-sama."

"Did you not know that such remarks threaten the delicate flowers who are the female employees of MishimaCorp, or that such remarks indicate a sexual interest that these women find threatening?

"Tell me, worm, do you find my hair attractive? Do you want to run your tongue up and down my milky white thighs?"

"Hai, Mistress-sama. I mean no, Mistress-sama. Is this a trick question, sensei?"

Kenji suddenly rose and grabbed the decorative wakizashi , or samurai short sword, right out of Frau Himmler's display case. He knelt before her and tore open his shirt, revealing the hard muscles of his abs. He tied the hachimaki, or white headband, he always carried in his pocket for just such an occasion tightly around his forehead. He pointed the steel tip of the wakizashi at his intestines and pressed down, drawing blood.

"I cannot live with this shame, Mistress-sama. I must commit seppuku at once." He knelt in the formal position for committing hari-kari.

"Actually I try to discourage acts of seppuku in my office, Kenji-san. At the very least we would need to put a plastic tarp over my beautiful Persian carpet. Also, the smell is less than savory when your intestines spill out. I don't know if there is enough Pine-Sol in world to cure that. Also we have tried to discourage acts of seppuku since the early seventies."

"The blade would only have to penetrate my well-toned abs an inch or so. Then you could lop off my head just as they did when our founder Mishima-sama committed hari-kari, may he repose in the Pure Land forever. You could use the katana for my decapitation," Kenji said, indicating the long samurai sword that remained in the display case.

"You could even call up the MishimaCorp's softball, soccer, and basketball teams to ensure that my head does not fall outside the tarp area. Mussolini-san's head made an excellent soccer ball at the end of WWII, the big one, may Il Duce be smothered in spaghetti paradise forever."

"I ask you only to allow me to die an honorable death, Mistress-sama. I have already taken the liberty of composing my death haiku. It goes like this:

head rolling

world upside down

what bliss.

"That is very beautiful and very moving, Kenji-chan. But I cannot allow you to commit seppuku here. The carpet alone is worth a quintillion yen. I hope you understand.

"Let me repeat my question, worm. Do you like my hair?"

"Yes, I mean no, Mistress-sama. I'm not sure what the right answer is," Kenji pled, further prostrating himself at her feet.

"Rise, my trembling salaryman. Come up here where I can see you."

Kenji rose slowly, his knees shaking in both fear and desire.

"Do you long to run your fingers through my silken golden hair, worm?"

"Hai," Kenji said, beginning to grasp the thrust of their conversation (both literally and figuratively).

"Yank the pin out of my hair, my noble samurai of the spreadsheets,". Frau Himmler commanded.

With trembling fingers, Kenji withdrew the offending pin from her bun. Her hair tumbled free. With a quick shake of her shoulders, said hair fell down her back and well past her firmly-toned ass. Its color was the platinum blond of the typical ersatz shiksa and had the silky texture of a Nipponese damsel.

"Do you want to run your fingers through my hair, worm?"

"Hai, Mistress-sama!" Kenji said, clicking his heels together and bowing repeatedly in the obsequious manner of the buck-toothed false Geisha so aptly and sensitively portrayed by Jerry Lewis in the cinema classic The Geisha Boy. That important film had shaped the world's image of Japanese society for over six decades.

Frau Himmler clicked the heels of her riding boots together once more. "Did I ask you a question, worm? It was purely rhetorical. Let me rephrase it. Run your fingers through my hair, worm, or little Sashimi, Sake and Miso will be sleeping on the hay in the stables and eating the sawdust for breakfast, lunch and dinner."

"Hai, Mistress-sama," Kenji said, snapping to attention and clicking his own heels. He again raised his arm in a passable Nazi salute, just as Mishima-sama had done on the balcony as he tried to rally his troops in support of the Emperor.

She shook her head and her long silky platinum hair rose and then resettled on her shoulders in what appeared to be slow motion. Kenji knew that this effect was achieved through the army of nanobots that resided in every drop of Rising Sun shampoo. This microscopic army tingled his skin erotically as Mistress-sama shook her pseudo-Aryan tresses across Kenji's face.

Himmler-sama caught his arm, which was still rigidly saluting the Uber-Fuhrer of Personnel Relations, and lowered his hand to her hair. Slowly he began to run his fingers through said tresses, which proved to be even silkier than he had imagined. His chinko grow to rival his wakizashi in length. .A tent arose in his kimono. "Is that your katana or are you just glad to see me?" Mistress-san asked, just before she reached under his loose garment to seize the pole of said tent. She wrapped her hand tightly around Kenji's throbbing chinko. He gasped in pleasure, as she began to rub the sensitive spot under the hood of the aforementioned organ with her well-experienced thumb in the ancient ritual of gitche gumee, as depicted in the Hiawatha sutra.

"Do you not want to touch me in the same way, my salaryman hero?" Frau Himmler asked him.

"Hai, Mistress-sama!" Kenji said, the oscillations of the bowing of his head exceeding even those of Jerry Lewis's buck-toothed false geisha.

"Do you want to feel the skin beneath my kilt?"

"Hai, Mistress-san," Kenji said. as he nodded his head up and down.

"Then what is stopping you?"

"I do not want to commit sexual harassment again," Kenji said, again prostrating himself on the floor.

Frau Himmler put her riding crop underneath Kenji's chin and lifted his face, forcing him to rise once more.

"You cannot harass me, Kenji-san. Did you not read MishimaCorp's Employee Handbook?"

Kenji shook his head. "I am deeply sorry, Mistress-sama. I didn't have time. It has 900 pages, and I try to devote at least 15 minutes each month interacting with my family."

"A worthy goal, although one incompatible with the aims and culture of MishimaCorp. But nevertheless you should have gone to the cram school we offer to familiarize yourself with the expectations of all MishimaCorp employees. It meets at night for only about 12 hours or so, and it lasts only a week, three months tops. If you had attended this cram school as expected, you would never have run afoul of MC's ever-vigilant thought police. Do you see these pins on my blazer?"

"Hai, Mistress-sama."

"Do you know the significance of these pins?"

"No Mistress-sama."

"Well, this pink pin indicates that I am open to the sexual advances of women and the blue one indicates that I am open to the sexual advances of men."

"And the black pin?"

"The black pin indicates that I am ready to get my freak on and will be receptive to virtually all propositions relating to paraphilias that are not on MC's Index of Proscribed Erotic Acts. Most of these involve murder or other types of extreme erotic acts. Most of them would cause you to toss your fortune cookies upon merely hearing them described. These vile acts are profusely illustrated on pages 666 to 790 of the MC Employee Handbook. You might not want to eat just before reading this section of the Handbook, which is typically the most dog-eared passage in the book. Now, Grasshopper, do you know what you did wrong?"

"Hai, Mistress-sama. Neither Tomiko Teriyaki nor Gogo Yubari were wearing blue pins when I complimented them on their smiles and hairstyles. However, now that I think about it, I seem to remember that Yubari-san was wearing a black pin."

"Forget about the black pin, Kenji-san. You are not ready for that jelly, as the right side of your face, so recently rearranged by Gogo-chan's mace, attests.

"Now, where were we? Oh yes, you were going to slide your hand beneath my kilt. Do not disappoint me, worm. Or should I say serpent? You must have been born in the Year of the Snake, big guy.

"Let's get 'em up," she commanded, as she performed a reverse gitche gumee on the head of Kenji's throbbing cock. She rubbed her thumb over the eye of Kenji's chinko spreading his precum over its helmet and up and down its rock-hard shaft.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked the shy, obsequious salaryman. Kenji ran his trembling hands up Frau Himmler's milky white, well-toned thighs until he reached her chitsu, or honeypot. Her silk underpants were already soaked with the moisture of desire. Tentatively he slipped two fingers underneath her panties, feeling her fur landing strip as he slipped the aforementioned digits three inches into her birth canal. Himmler-san gasped at the deep and sudden impalement. There were unexplored depths in her salaryman hero, at least up to the second knuckle. "Bite those silk undies right off me," she commanded Kenji.

Kenji fell to his knees before his Mistress, and wrapped his arms around the white perfection of her lean thighs. He grabbed her buttocks with both hands, and drew her hungry chitsu to his thirsty, thirsty mouth. He took the elastic band of her panties in his mouth and tore them off her with the ferocity of a great white shark. "Oh my!" she said in a passible imitation of the actor George Takei, best known for his portrayal of Hikaru Sulu, the obsequious, albeit upwardly mobile, helmsman of the Starship Enterprise.

Kenji opened his thirsty, thirsty mouth to envelope Himmler-san's dripping chitsu completely. Her nectar was as sweet as green tea at cherry blossom time. She reached down to grasp Kenji's fortuitously still-attached head in her hands and ground it against her chitsu, tantalizing the throbbing bud of her inkaku as she moved Kenji's head up and down the sensitive slit of her sanranko. She pushed a button on her desk, and a queen size bed suddenly appeared from inside the wall and was lowered into a horizontal position. The dulcet voice of Lou Rawls issued from hidden speakers in the ceiling above them: "You'll never find another love like mine..."

Soon the would-be fornicators were joined by a hologram of Bruce Buffer, the mellifluous-voiced announcer of UFC's octagon, who proclaimed, "Let's get ready to tumble!"

A hologram of Big John McCarthy appeared and pointed directly at Frau Himmler. "Are you ready?"

Frau Himmler gave the hologram a lascivious grin and said, "Oh, yes baby. Oh yes!"

The hologram then pointed to Kenji. "Are you ready?"

Kenji knew that these introductions were primarily for the benefit of the viewers of the MishimaCorp film festival, which was held every Friday in the employees' snack room. Kenji gave the Big John McCarthy hologram a very enthusiastic thumbs-up.

"Let's get it on!!" the holographic referee said before vanishing into thin air. Kenji and Frau Himmler rushed into each other's arms and orifices. The overhead microphone switched its tune from Lou Rawls' "You'll Never find another Love like Mine" to Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get it On," with a few bars of Barry White's "Can't get Enough of You, Babe" thrown in for good measure.

Frau Himmler needed no such encouragement, She tore off the remnants of their garments and tossed them onto the floor. She lowered herself upon the bed, her naked body inviting and defenseless. She grabbed Kenji's hair by the topknot and expertly pulled him down upon her own throbbing naked body, sliding his rock hard chinko all the way up to the hilt into her warm, dripping wet chitsu. The penetration was divine, far more than she expected of her soul-crushed, albeit sexually-yearning, salaryman intern. She gasped as he thrust into her again. She wrapped her slender muscular legs around Kenji's waist in the missionary position, as befit a country whose sexual skills, knowledge, and proclivities had been honed under the expert tutelage of Western missionaries and nuns for hundreds of years. Kenji grabbed her small but firm breasts and squeezed them as he rammed into her with all his might.

"Oh yes, Kenji-san!" Frau Himmler managed to say, even though the breath was driven out of her body with each of Kenji's thrusts. "Kenji-san?"

"Yes, mistress?"

"Whenever you feel so horny that you can not resist an act of extreme sexual moral turpitude especially those on MC's Index of Proscribed Erotic Acts, I want you to come running to my office before you do something stupid again, such as telling Gogo Yubari that you like the colors in her hair. Your skull is still markedly asymmetrical from the last time you complimented Gogo-chan on her Mona Lisa smile I want you to come running to me at once, and I will personally trim your delectable horns right here in this very office. You will find that there is literally nothing that I won't do for you in the name of preserving a harmonious workplace at MC. Shibumi is our middle name.

She took the twin orbs of Kenji's kintama in her right hand and squeezed them, eliciting a quick yelp from the powerless salaryman.

"Shove your depraved throbbing chinko into me as hard as you can, worm, but don't even think about coming inside me before I finish or I will twist your kintama like this."

Kenji cried out in pain as though she were ripping his family jewels right off his pathetic salaryman's body.

Oh, no, he thought, I'm beginning to talk like her inside my own head. How worthless he had become even in his own eyes.

Frau Himmler-sama spoke into the black pin she wore around her neck: "Ok, we're going to need a 4113 team in Comfort Room 1. Kenji knew that Comfort Room 1 was in fact Frau Himmler-sama's office. He had heard that dark, supremely erotic acts often were often carried out in the name of Human Resources counseling in this very den of sexual inequity.

His chinko hardened at the thought. If you called it a woody, that would vastly underestimate its magnificence, unless the wood you are imagining is that of a cedar or a sequoia tree. It would even give most of the rocky shafts of the Petrified Forest and possible even a diamond a run for their money in terms of hardness.

Frau Himmler broke into the aria sung by Madeleine Kahn as she copulated with the monster in Young Frankenstein. This inspired Kenji to belt out MishimaCorp's company song:

Far above Cayuga's waters,

There's an awful smell;

Some will say it's Lake Cayuga,

Others say it is Cornell.

This song was inspired by Cornell University Press's rejection of Mishima-sama's novel Confessions of a Mask.

As Kenji and Frau Himmler-sama belted out the first refrain of the company song in an inspired duet., Kenji heard the pitter-patter of little papered pervert feet in the hallway outside Frau Himmler-sama's office. Their movement was arrested right outside her door. The 4113 team had assembled, Kenji supposed.

Kenji interlaced his fingers with Himmler-sama's as he began to drive into her harder and harder. Himmler-sama's delicious body arched toward Kenji's with each thrust. He thrust his tongue hard down the Director of Human Resources throat, and she wrapped her thighs around him tightly as he rode her, wanting him never to stop. Even when he withdrew slightly to perform a triple axel followed by an inverted Biellmann spin that threated to ream Himmler-sama's innards completely out, she still clasped tightly on to him to prevent his escape.

"Grab my hooters, you salaryman swine," she exclaimed. "Grab them with extreme prejudice. Rip them right off my body, you timid lowly salaryman dog!"

Kenji did his best, but it was no easy matter to rend the strong mammary tissue of a healthy, albeit nymphomaniac, Japanese woman in her sexual prime. Besides, Kenji liked Himmler-sama's hooters just fine right where they were.

The frustrated neo-Gestapo Director of Human Resources grabbed Kenji's head and forced it down hard upon the small, supple, but by no means ignorable flesh of her left chibusa. She lowered her hands to seize Kenji's undulating ass, squeezing both cheeks hard, urging him to pound into her harder and harder. She snaked her tongue into the salaryman's mouth as her hands urged Kenji to increase the pace of his battering of her vulnerable body.