Employees of the Rising Sun

Kenji tried not to come, as he knew it would result in a most unfavorable report in this personnel file. He was losing all control when Himmler-sama gave his kintama a most painful and complex twist.

"Did you feel that, my salaryman lover?"

"Hai, Mistress-sama."

"That was the Kimura of the Twin Orbs. You will not be able find release until I reverse it."

Kenji felt the pain of his army of microscopic semi-samurais as they frantically and blindly crashed against the inner lining of his kintama, seeking their beloved, which even now raced down Mistress-sama's Fallopian tubes seeking their first and final tryst. Yet that tryst was denied them by the Kimura of the Twin Orbs.

Kenji's sexual urges increased exponentially as Himmler-sama's ovum tantalized his unicellular minions by its cruel unavailability.

He continued to pound Mistress-sama's body as though it were a rag doll and to grind her small but supple pale Japanese breasts into her delectable torso.

She reached underneath to grasp his traumatized and tortured kintama, playing cruelly with his orbs as though they were Chinese Baoding exercise balls. Kenji gasped in frustrated sexual desire, his diamond-hard chinko aching for release.

Frau Himmler-sama pushed Kenji's head down her torso, so that his face was deeply buried in the soaking-wet folds of her omanko. He did not release his cruel grip on her small pale breasts, but crushed them even harder against her flesh, causing her to cry out softly, more in pleasure than pain. He took the throbbing bud of her kuri in his mouth, tugging it from side to side, shaking it back and forth like a hapless squirrel in the maw of a ravenous timberwolf or a hyper-libidinal golden doodle.

Frau Himmler-sama cried out, and her whole body shuddered in ecstasy and sweet surrender. She held Kenji's head tightly against her omanko as wave after wave of ecstasy traveled up and down her throbbing body, like tsunami after tsunami hitting the Fukashima nuclear power plant.

"Drink me," she said as she forced his head further down so that his mouth was pressed hard against her nether mouth. She released a torrent of hot, salty fluid into Kenji's mouth and down his throat. If that stream was what Kenji thought it was, it was much more delicious that he had anticipated. An elixir of sorts.

Himmler-sama rose and said, "Now I must drink you, my salaryman worm. Rise so that I may taste the delights of your imprisoned tadpoles, which also must be released, wretched half-creatures that they may be. They long to reach my tamagochi, to become whole once more. The losers in this race must die, like the lowly failures that they are. Even the Usain Bolts among them will not reach my tamogochi, which does not reside in my mouth but rather in my fallopian tubes (ha, ha, tamo-gotcha!)."

Frau Himmler-sama rose slowly, her tongue tracing its way up his inner thigh. She tantalized the pulsing balls of his kintama, which remained twisted in the Kimura of the Twin Orbs. She could undo that cruel twist with one flick of her wrist, but chose to taunt the hapless salaryman, if only to establish her infinite power over that lowly worm.

She rose slowly, grabbing the firm mounds of Kenji's gluteus maximus, squeezing and releasing them in time with the opening and closing of her mouth over the sweet, tortured orbs of his throbbing kintama. She took those spheres in her mouth, one after the other, closing her mouth around them and squeezing them as she ran her tongue vigorously over those delectable spheres. She continued to squeeze them to let him know that she held his manhood in her throat, that she could tear it off with one thrash of her razor-sharp teeth.

Her arms reached Kenji's firm pecs and she moved her hand around them and squeezed them as if they were the humongous hooters of an amine she-devil. Then she lowered her hands, grasping Kenji's rock-hard chinko in her right hand and his tormented kintama in her left.

"Oh my poor tortured salaryman. How you must ache for release from the cruel knot I have tied in your beleaguered seiki. What exquisite pain you must feel. I will untwist you, but you may not come until I have drained your kintama completely. I want to swallow every drop of your orbs' delicious nectar, more sacred even than a cup McDonald's green tea topped with cherry blossoms to go."

She uncorked Kenji's vas deferens with a cruel twist of his kintama . She impaled her head on the salaryman's tortured chinko and began to suck him like a hungry lamb desperately feeding on its mother's teat.

"Mom't cam beffer Ido, mor I bit mor shinko clean off." the Human Relations executive told her whiny charge.

"I can't understand a fucking word you're saying," Kenji told Himmler-sama.

"I'm sorry. My mama-san and undoubtedly yours taught us never to talk with our mouths full. What I said was 'Don't come before I do or I'll bite your chinko clean off'."

"Don't you be talking about my mama-san," Kenji protested. He soon quieted down when he felt the Human Resources executive's sharpened incisors clamp down on his favorite organ, drawing blood.

Suddenly, and he prayed not prematurely, Kenji released his jism in a torrent that overflowed Himmler-sama's oral capacity.

"Oh my," she said, with Kenji's hot yawana dribbling over hot chin.

Kenji licked every drop of his zamen off of her delectable face, entering her mouth with his hot thrashing tongue to clean the inner lining of said mouth, stopping only to play a quick game of solitaire tether ball with the hanging, dancing, delectable uvula at the back of her mouth.

"Okay, that's a wrap," she told her dedicated film crew. "Now, send in the clowns."

"Sorry," she told Kenji, "I'm running late. I have to do a group session now. You're free to join us. Would you like that, my noble salaryman?"

Kenji's head bobbed up and down faster than the speedbag over at Rocky Yazamoto's gym and juice bar. In a passable imitation of Shirley Temple, he said, "Would I ever! It would be ever so keen!"

"Well, let's send in the clowns," Frau Himmler-sama said into the mic permanently embedded her throat. "Chop chop!" she added with clap of her hands.

The first two employees to enter were actual clowns, each of them juggling four pins. Kenji shuddered. He had a deathly fear of clowns ever since his parents dragged him to the Shinto harvest festival back in 1994 at the tender age of three.

The clowns were followed by a pair of Irish Siamese twin midgets, who joined the juggling act with some difficulty. Next were two female sumo wrestlers (all the rage in Tokyo these days after the success of female mixed martial artists such as Rhonda Rousey in the States). Kenji estimated that their breasts alone weighed a good 22.7 kilograms apiece (that's 50 pounds for you scientifically-illiterate gaijin). They wore only the traditional diapers (mahwashi) favored by all sumo wrestlers. Those slim mahwashi did nothing to hide the delectable cellulite that covered these behemoths' powerful glutei maximi. These colossal combatants squatted at diametrically-opposed points of an imaginary circular arena. It was not clear to Kenji that a standing posture was attainable for these practitioners of the noble art of sumo, given that these warriors' centers of gravity were a good half meter below their "waists."

The nobel rikishi then threw salt over their shoulders to purify the imaginary ring. This was followed an elaborate series of squatting exercises that made Kenji's chinko rise to the height of Mount Fuji-San. He imagined being made to lie on his back while these delicious leviathans sat on his face, ingesting his entire head while crushing his kintama with their impossibly powerful hands.

Kenji's chinko grew even longer at this prospect, even though it became obvious to him that one of these rikishi had multitasked her diaper, judging by its prominent brown skid marks and the compensatory odor of cherry blossoms than emanated from it. However, this was no deal-breaker for some one as sophisticated as Kenji.

That explains why barf bags were aesthetically placed around the ring, he supposed.

Then, ten thoroughly-tattooed yakuza emerged onto the scene. The average number of fingers left on the yakuzas' hands was somewhere south of three. Kenji knew that they must have been forced to amputate their own digits for failing to maintain the specified minimum speed of oscillation in Himmler-sama's chitsu. Soon they would reduced to fisting her, or more accurately, stumping her.

Next to enter was a unicorn, that symbol of purity, virtue and perfection. No wait, it was just a costume. Kenji noted that the costume was held together by a deep (eleven-inch) analingual penetration of the anterior half of the faux equine delight by the tongue of posterior half. It was going to be a bitch separating these two love birds when the group session was over, Kenji knew.

The mystical one-horned false equine was followed by a yeti, which was to all appearances real. This cryptozoological beast stood eight feet tall with a hard, foot-long chitsu that pulsated with each thrust into its imagined paramour. Kenji gulped, hoping that yetis did not fancy salarymen. However, his own chitsu had become rock-hard, and his ass was already beginning to pulsate with incorrigible desire.

Next into the arena was one Charlie Sheen, who gave the assembled fornicators-to-be a thumbs-up. With his infectious smile and even more infectious mouth, he uttered but one word: "Winning!"

Kenji noticed that the intern accountant sitting across from him, whose name he vaguely recalled was Kenu Dorfmankawa, was becoming increasingly restless. Dormankawa's MishimaCorp nickname, he recalled, was "Flounder," due to the fact, if you ignore the epicanthic folds around his eyes, the lowly accountant was the spitting image of Stephen Furst, who played the role of Flounder in the classic American film Animal House. Dorfmankawa rubbed his hands together, and a maniacal grin overtook his face. "Oh boy," he said. "This is gonna be great!"