Shunga World

A swirl of beauties moved around the stage at Joou in the red-light Shinjuku Ni-Chome district of Tokyo. The entertainment had moved into the evening gown portion of the night, where the lovelies paraded around, lip synching to a Peggy Lee song. Each of them had a moment in the spotlight at center stage, where the audience's favorites received the most applause—and where bids could be made in an auction "for later," if any of the patrons were so inclined.

This was Dayea's first performance at the club, the name of which translated from the Japanese into English as "Queen." She was dressed in a stunning electric-blue sheath that barely covered her melon breasts and went nearly to the floor. Movement was enabled by a slit in the side that rose all the way to her hip. Underneath were a gold lamé thong and gold spike heels. Even with the heels she stood slightly less than five-and-a-half feet. She had only recently arrived from the Philippines and had taken as her stage name Dayea, as it meant "goddess of secrets" in Tagalog. She picked the name as she had a secret, although it wasn't much of a secret in this club.

A strikingly beautiful Filipina with long, straight black hair flowing down her back, she had more than one secret. A prominent one, though, was that her melon breasts were only recently acquired, paid for her by a procurer in Manila.

The set done, she was finished for the night—at least on the stage. She had to await the possibility there would be a winning bid on her further attentions in her dressing room, a private room that was furnished with a divan and its own small bathroom with shower as well as a clothes rack and her makeup table. Having just arrived, this was Dayea's home until she was able to find a small apartment rented by other performers like her who needed another roommate.

But Dayea's working day wasn't over. She heard the gentle knock on the door, which opened before she could do more than rise from her dressing table and turn when the club manager, Natsume Yawata, leaned into the room and said, "You have a visitor."

He didn't name the visitor. There would be no names, although the tall, slightly heavy-set, middle-aged man in evening dress who came into the room would soon enough be known to her as Tajema Eicu.

Alone with him in the room, Dayea didn't quite know what to do, so she offered him a glass of scotch from the watered-down Johnny Walker Black bottles the management provided to help entertain the clientele. Not having learned much Japanese yet and too nervous to try what little she had learned, she spoke in English.

"No, I don't want liquor," he answered in English, although he was Japanese. "I want what I paid for."

She was leaning over the divan, supported by her fists pushed into the divan's surface, as the man, fully clothed, knelt behind her, parted the skirting of her gown at the slit, pushed the butt string of the gold lamé thong aside, and buried his face in her buttocks crack.

She moaned for him as she knew he wanted. She was not virgin to this. She had been well broken in to it in Manila clubs before she'd been sent to Tokyo. Lubricant and packets of condoms were close at hand, and it didn't take long before he was hunched over her back and fucking her from the rear.

As he fucked her, he slowly peeled what clothes she was wearing off her. He unzipped the bodice of the gown at the side and slid it down to her waist. His hands went up under the cups of her skimpy gold bra and squeezed her new breasts. The fastening on the bra straps gave way, and it slipped off to the side. While still stroking inside her and squeezing her breasts alternately with one hand, he cupped her chin with the other and pulled her head back into the hollow of his neck.

The man reached through the slit in the gown with the hand he'd been working Dayea's breasts with, grasped Dayea's cock and continued stroking in her ass while he jacked the transvestite to completion. Dayea had been born a Filipino male, Jabol, and had only made a partial transition so far. The Joou club he was working in was a drag queen show theater. This was the big time for him in comparison to the clubs in Manila. He'd come to Tokyo for the much higher pay.

All it took to strip Dayea naked as the man continued pumping her ass was to undo a couple of buttons at the waist of the gown and it fell away to the floor and to unsnap the sides of the thong waistband.

Dayea gave the man the sighs and groans she knew he want as, still fully clothed himself and still bending Dayea over the divan, he approached and then realized his own climax. Before he released Dayea, though, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet that he slit open with his fingernails, pulling out a pad giving off a pungent odor, which he brought up and held over the young Filipino's nose and mouth. Dayea's eyes rolled up into her head and she collapsed, unconscious, in his arms.

"Jomo, assistance now," he called out. The door to the corridor opened, and the hulking and thuggish bodyguard who had been standing outside the door stood on the threshold, taking a look in both directions down the corridor.

"All clear. Do you need help?"

"Yes, you bring her."

The bodyguard entered the room, took Dayea's limp and naked body from Eicu and held her while Eicu pulled a silk robe off the rack and wrapped it around her. Then Jomo threw the limp body over his shoulder, and when Eicu saw that the coast was clear, they carried her out of the room and out of the theater, threw her in the backseat of a black Mercedes parked in the alley behind the theater, and drove away.

* * * *

"Look at the art on the easels. What do you see?"

"A couple embracing, wearing old Japanese robes and in some sort of old Japanese tea room." Dayea was trembling less than when she'd been brought into this room. The man from the previous evening—introduced now at Tajema Eicu—was sitting, embracing her close to him, at a low tea table. He had a hand inserted into the folds of her robe and was gently stroking her breasts.

"In a setting just as we are in? Dressed as we are?" Tajema asked.

"Yes," Dayea responded.

They were dressed in the style of ancient Japan, Dayea in elaborate robes as a Geisha. Her hair was taken up and arranged in Geisha style, her face was powdered white as snow, her features had been drawn into a Japanese caricature, and she was dressed in two layers of brocade robes, a scarlet-red under robe and a burgundy-colored outer robe with white and gold Chrysanthemums embroidered on it. Under the robes she was naked except for the white Japanese tabi socks, which separated the big toe from the rest. Tajema, without the wig he'd worn the previous night gone, was bald on top with hair around the sides and back that was long and pulled back in a pigtail. He was wearing a simple brown-and-white striped cotton robe—and nothing but an erection underneath.

When Dayea had awakened that morning, she found that she was lying on a tatami mat in an old-style Japanese room walled with shoji screens and opening out to a small walled garden with the finger-leaved miniature maple trees in shades of burgundy, green, and yellow, weeping over a small carp pond. A stone bench was at one side of the pond, and sitting on the bench was Tajema Eicu, naked other than that brown-striped robe, parted and flowing behind him, and slow-stroking his erection.

"Come here," he commanded when he saw that Dayea, herself lying naked on a lush blue and green quilt, was awake.

Her first instinct was to sit up, pull the edge of the quilt over her nakedness, and shrink away from the man.

"I said come here," he growled. "I bought you. I own you now. You will follow my commands, or I will beat you. I will beat you to death, if necessary."

With a sigh, Dayea pushed the quilt aside, daintily rose to her feet, and walked toward Tajema. This was what she was trained to do.

Sitting in his lap on his cock, facing away from him, on the bench next to the swirling carp in the pond, Tajema had Dayea raise her legs up her chest, The man wrapped his arms around her legs, keeping her jackknifed, and pulled her up and down on his cock. Before he ejaculated, he released her legs, turned her around to facing him, pulled her legs around his hips, pushed her torso down, between his spread, seated-position legs, and, with her shoulder blades rubbing on the stone floor and her straight, jet-black hair streaking behind her, pulled her on and off the cock.

When Tajema had come, they remained in that position. "Now you. Stroke that cute little penis of yours off for me."

Dayea reached down and took her boy's cock in one hand. The other hand went to her ripe, hard breasts, which she stroked while she was stroking her cock and gave Tajema the coquettish smile she knew the man would want to see.

"Minobe will be in momentarily," Tajema said, when Dayea had finished himself in a small arc of cum shooting up his belly. "He will prepare you as a Geisha. Clean yourself now—thoroughly. It will be a taxing day for you."

And like that, he was gone. No smile or other sign that he had enjoyed the taking of Dayea. It had been cold, not passionate. Just mechanical, even when, realizing that she was entirely in the man's control, Dayea had tried playing the courtesan within the confines of the straight-up sex of the situation.

The young Japanese man who came to attend to Dayea's makeup and costuming was small and boyish, like Dayea. This presumably was the Minobe who Tajema had said would dress Dayea, but he spoke no Tagalog or English and Dayea spoke no Japanese. Thus, the two couldn't converse, although Dayea felt the other young man to be sympathetic to her and he did, indeed, treat her tenderly and give her encouraging smiles, which made her feel less panicked and confused about her plight.

The nerves flooded back in, though, when Minobe escorted him through shoji-screened corridors to the room where she met up with Tajema again, sitting at a low tea table, in his brown-stripped cotton robe, sashed, but open at the chest to reveal what had been a muscular, firm chest, now given to a bit of middle-aged droop and a slight pot belly. The robe also flared open under the sash where he knelt to reveal he was in angry eruption again, an anger accentuated by his shaft and balls being tinted red.

So had Dayea's been.

What surprised Dayea the most was that behind her, it was all traditional Japanese walls and furnishings. A platform covered in colorful quilts rose further into the Japanese-style room behind where they sat at the tea table. But in front of her, beyond the large prints on the easels—one of which surprised her because the figures were dressed identically to how she and Tajema were now clothed—the rest of the room was stark and was arrayed with arc lights on poles and video cameras on tripods. Men in jeans and T-shirts—four of them—were milling around, playing with the camera equipment—and acting like there was a line drawn across the room, with the nineteenth-century, traditional Japan on one side and the modern commercial world on the other.

"Pay no attention to the cameras," Tajema said as he coaxed Dayea to kneel beside him at the tea table. "They will do what they do and we will do what we do."

While serving Dayea tea as she knelt demurely close beside him, Tajema displayed an affection had hadn't been shown in the previous two takings, murmuring to her how beautiful she was, pulling her loose robe off her shoulder to kiss her there—evidently not wishing to smudge her white face powder—and running a hand into the folds of the robe at her chest to stroke her breasts.

"We are in a traditional Geisha house," Tajema explained to her. "Those blown-up art prints are of ancient Shunga art—the pillow book art of Japan. These are of the homoerotic Shunga, which was nearly as popular as other Shunga in that period. All of the actresses in drama then were played by young men. The young men had their male sexual admirers and clientele."

Dayea started to speak, but Tajema hushed her in a stern voice, "It is not for you to ask questions or to voice any doubts or objections. I am the master here. All you are to do is understand and follow your instructions and to be passive unless or until I instruct you to show that you enjoy it or that you don't. Do you understand?"

"Yes, master," Dayea said, lowering her face and eyelashes submissively.

"You are in the world of Shunga now. That is what the enterprise is—Shunga World. We recreate homoerotic Shunga—in DVD and in still shots. And we sell them to connoisseurs of the art throughout the world. You noticed the print over there where the robes are the same as you and I are wearing, don't you?"

"Yes."

"At some time during this photo shoot, we are going to be in that position. Getting into that position and carrying on from it, though, will be what sells the films and photos. In the final film, the frame will be frozen at that shot, and the original Shunga print will be shown before the film continues. So, you see, the most difficult chore for you and me will be to replicate that exact position at some time during the taking. Now, look at the print. Where does the action take place?"

"On the platform behind us."

"Precisely. So, where do I want you to move now?"

"To the platform behind us."

The pole lights came on as Dayea rose and walked to the platform. Tajema arranged her body artfully along the front edge of the platform and, as the cameras started to roll, he knelt behind her, his robe sash now gone and his cotton robe pulled back to reveal his slight paunch, the nearly drooping pecs on an otherwise muscular body, and his angry red erection. He carefully opened Dayea's robing to reveal just her bare buttocks. Taking her ankle in his hand, he bent her leg forward along the front of the platform and turned her pelvis just enough to reveal that she too had a red-tinted penis and a small set of balls. He buried his face in her crack, and moved a hand up into the folds of her robe to grasp her chest. The camera would not know, at least for now, that he was stroking actual breasts rather than the slightly muscular pecs of a boy man.

Dayea did what she could to depict as the passive Geisha, giving over all pleasure and passion to the male patron. She had difficulty suppressing her surprise, though, when she saw a naked Minobe being escorted into the room at the side by a handsome and powerfully built—and monstrously equipped—man in his late twenties or early thirties. The two of them quickly took a pose at the tea table that was identical to what was happening between Dayea and Tajema on the stage—except they were doing it entirely naked. They continued to be there throughout the photo shoots, mimicking the Shunga poses on the platform.

Tajema rose over Dayea's body, slowly piercing her anal passage with his red-tinted cock and lifting her leg by running an arm under her knee, turning her so that both the act of penetration and her own cock and balls became the focal point of the pose. The jet-black, long and wildly waving hair of his bush, as it did in the Shunga print, gave stark contrast to the smooth, lightly white-powdered curve of Dayea's cheeks.

He turned her face toward his and took her lips in a kiss. The fuck started out slow, sensual, and picked up in intensity and ferocity. Within twelve minutes, Tajema had pulled her up fully on the platform, was up on his knees, using them as leverage to slam his cock home again and again. Her leg was being forced higher, and his other hand was buried in her elaborate headdress, pulling the combs holding it up out, her hair half undone.

By the end of the shoot, she was on her back, with Tajema's knees pushed in far under her buttocks; her legs bent and spread, streaming around his hips; her arms thrown out and up from her body; her straight, black hair fanned out and streaming above her head, her face, the white powder smudged here and there, turned, impassive toward the cameras; her robes open enough at the chest to reveal that she did have two firm, melon breasts, both covered and being worked hard by Tajema's hands, as he jerked, pulled out, and ejaculated onto the base of Dayea's small erection and balls.

To get the full effect of the red-tinted cock, Tajema hadn't been wearing a condom. Dayea was checked regularly. She only hoped that Tajema was too.

From time to time Dayea had glance over at the other couple, which continued mimicking everything, but fully naked.

Later, put together again by a Minobe who showed no worse the wear from having been taken by a horse cock from the young, handsome man, who Tajema told Dayea was Uesugi Yasuda and who would be attending all of the sessions, Dayea was wearing more subdued robes. An ochre-colored underrobe in silk rather than brocade, was covered in a simple robe of wide charcoal-colored stripes relieved by narrower ochre stripes. Tajema's robe was the same as Dayea's outer robe.

Tajema explained the art of this, pointing to the print it mimicked.

"The simple color lines make the eyes flow to the center. The robes being of the same material aids this. And what is at the center in that print?"

"My buttocks and cock. Your erection. That red sash."

"Precisely. What do you see at your hole and on my cock?"

"Cum."

"Very good. So this print is of what?"

"The withdrawal after coming inside me."

"Yes."

The sequence started with Dayea on her knees, buttocks raised, chest and cheek pressed on ochre-colored quilting with delicate white flowers embroidered on it, her face impassively directed at the cameras. On his knees behind her, his pelvis plastered to her buttocks, Tajema covered her close with his chest from above.

The still shot, replicating one print, but not one with those identical robes, was of his arms embracing her, hands buried under her chest, and just holding there, his cock buried inside her.

Dayea couldn't help looking over at the tea table, which she had thought was overly large in surface when she first saw it but now realized was built to hold the other coupling pair. Minobe's head was turned from her, toward the camera, as hers was, but she couldn't help but notice that the small Japanese man was trembling and straining at having all of Uesugi's cock inside him in this position.

And Dayea began to tremble too. Wanting Uesugi in her that deep. Wanting the younger, body-beautiful man with the magnificent cock fucking her.

After fucking her for a while in this position once the action started up, Tajema pulled her down to the floor beside the platform again, causing her to stretch her chest out on the platform, lay her cheek on her upper arm, as it stretched out for the edge of the platform, her hand daintily posed in a raised position, with her fingers curled. Her legs were bent and bound together with a red sash. The robe was pushed up enough off her hips to show the hint of the tip of her cock. Leaning over her body, and kneeling behind her buttocks, Tajema fucked her now-tightened hole.

By command, Dayea was also curling her toes—the curling of fingers and toes being a Shunga art signal, Tajema had told her, of being fucked deep.

The final shot was of him sitting back on his haunches, full frontal, having just withdrawn his cock, and, highlighted a luminous white, cum streaming down his still-angry erection. Cum flowed out of Dayea's anus. Cum puddled on the tatami matting floor between them.

As old and paunchy as Tajema was becoming, nothing had diminished his capability of producing a voluminous ejaculation.

* * * *

After what indeed had been a rough day for Dayea, Minobe guided her back to the room that had been assigned to her, drew a hot bath for her, and sponged off her body as she lay there still moaning softly from what her body had been put through. The whole concept of it appealed to her, though, and it gave her a warm glow. She thought she would glow hotter, though, if she, not Minobe, lay under the big handsome brute, Uesugi.