(Author's important notes: In the 'Yin Anecdotes', the author departs from the usual themes in order to conceptualize his brooding psyche in fiction. The stories in this series contain nudity, _s_e_x_, violence and profanity, but not always all at once. The characters and plot are merely a synthesis of actual people and events, and should not be construed as otherwise. The author would like to state categorically that he does not condone acts of violence and terrorism of any form against the weak and helpless, particularly children, women, homo_s_e_x_uals and all minority groups.)
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Aoki loved his job but he was emotionally spent. After putting in his five days as a PR man for the society's well heeled, the plenipotentiary of the economy and polity, his stress level had a nasty way of creeping up on him to steal the scene of an otherwise productive week.
Nevertheless, it was Friday. Aoki heaved a thankful sigh of relief while he shook the hand of his last client for the day. In just two hours he would be able to escape the vox populi of all those urban cannibals and warriors who shared with him a world that was already jaded and contracted by the pursuit of plenty. For Aoki was finding that proselytizing his clients' philosophy to these vapid masses could sometimes backfire on his own loose and shaky convictions.
And he was also desperate to escape the dastardly gossips and ostracism of his colleagues who regarded him an economic carpetbagger, whose only reason for success and claim to fame was that he was a transient. See, someone once said that a prophet was never welcome on his own soil. Aoki's success on borrowed locale was testament to the adage. But it had hurt Aoki not to be accorded due credit for he had worked hard at every rung. He wasn't being fairly treated and he was sick of it.
If the weekend had begun yesterday it wouldn't have been soon enough for him, the way he was feeling these days about the stalemate he had reached in penetrating that tight establishment viscera formed by the clannish staff.
Two more hours, Aoki thought to himself, and then he would be on gentler turf. The gay bath was an hour's ride on the tube from his office and Aoki had been in its patronage since he was relocated to this province a year ago. The bath was, for Aoki, a familiar because conquered territory. There were also the comforts of conquered acquaintanceship with familiar faces, the owners of which shared a common problem of marginality and a common desire for male bonding without needing to deal with social discrimination and prejudice.
Equally familiar were the bath rituals. These were fairly simple rituals. The patron entered through the front door of the bathhouse, paid the fees and was handed a key to a locker and a towel. If he wished he could purchase, at a nominal rate, as many packs of condoms as he wanted and felt would last him through the night. Also at a nominal fee was an assortment of toys and props he could rent to heighten his pleasures: _c_o_c_k_ rings, handcuffs, leather straps, _d_i_l_d_o_ and blindfolds, among others. His pleasure was proportionate to the limits of his own imagination and disproportionate to the limitlessness of his imagination.
There were a few levels of pleasure to which a customer could attain. He could attain it stag, for there were private rooms in which he could sequester and there masturbate himself. Or if he wanted he could amble along the first level floor and watch the other gorgeous leather and hairy types or the campy variety self-masturbating. Many of the men were hardly bashful and usually took pride in their activities and anatomies, gleefully and purposely leaving their doors slightly ajar to invite and titillate knowing or unknowing onlookers. Onlookers, there were a-plenty, who delighted in plebeian voyeurism and who sometimes ejaculated into their underwear or towels from the simple act of soaking up what they were seeing and hearing.
On another level, the client could enter the common bath and seek out a partner for twosome pleasures. He and his partner could both agree to stay at the poolside, strip down naked or partially naked, and engage in light touching and petting. Or if privacy was desired they could then both proceed to rent a room and indulge in realizing each other's fantasies.
The bathhouse-savvy did well to be cautious as far as whom they sought out as their partner or to whom they agreed to be their partner. Considerations must include safety, shared interests and mutual demands for a post-meeting emotional attachment, and whether or not there would be kissing, anal intercourse or anal penetration of an object other than one's penis. It was always a good idea to set the ground rules and express one's expectations before one proceeded to consummate a meeting with one's chosen partner, who must necessarily be a stranger since forming lifelong friendships here was but an ephemeral wish. But of course there were always the few who reneged on all the rules in favor of spontaneity.
Aoki had always enjoyed level-two pleasures. They allowed him that pithy latitude to determine the degree to which his fantasies might be realized and intimacy shared with his partner. He had had many partners in the past year. Harii was partner number sixty-eight at last count a month ago. However his favorite partner was a marine-sort he had met last week. He would never forget the man's name: Mitri.
Aoki's mind was now retrospectively teleprompting him to the bath where he had met Mitri. Aoki found himself on the electric train once more. It was slowing to a stop. As was customary, all week Aoki had felt like a troglodyte in an overpopulated office commune. But he had been restored to his sanguine self as soon as he began the salubrious ride to his Friday night ritual.
And then he had had a sudden and forlorn recollection. He had heard that the baths were becoming endangered now that some amongst the country's moral majority were campaigning for their elimination owing to the misinformed perception that they were the roots of all _s_e_x_ually transmitted diseases. He had lamented and raged at the recollection, wondering what all the fuss was about. If only they knew how safe these baths were, and how much precaution the clients took to ensure practicing safety was a priority in their rituals.
But never mind, Aoki had consoled himself, this was a problem for tomorrow. "Let tomorrow take care of itself," he whispered, "for this night is mine."
Aoki had quickened his steps, allowing the autumn zephyr to conduct him along the tessellated pedestrian-way toward his secret rendezvous. He was soon within view of the humble façade set against a magnificent fresco of ancient mountains and quiet temples. Aoki tarried momentarily to pay homage to this conduit of humanity's ties with the natural and the spiritual, without which Man would long ago have collapsed under the weight of his own insane plenitude. But Aoki paid his homage very quickly for his concupiscence could wait not a minute longer.
Ten minutes into his arrival at the bathhouse, Aoki had found himself lingering outside the cubicle occupied by a man who, he was to discover not long after, was called Mitri.
Mitri's head was deeply cast in shadow. That had not mattered to Aoki for the man within, who was groaning from the enjoyment of self-gratification, had an appealing backside that was illuminated by a single whitish spotlight. The reason for this discriminate highlighting was only obvious. Fulfilling the chalcedony's objective, Aoki had thrown a boner at the sight of the exposed and enlarged anus ahead of him. But he had been as shameless at his voyeurism as Mitri was at exhibiting himself, both to mutual benefits; for as soon as Mitri had unloaded his wad, he invited his spectator in.
"You knew I was watching?" Aoki asked the other.
Mitri nodded, sitting up on his cot and lighting up his post-masturbation celebration cigar.
"You made it obvious," he replied smugly. "You were grunting."
"Sorry," Aoki mumbled, careful about his choice of words but also turning red in the face, "I couldn't help myself. You were very exciting to watch."
Mitri smiled, again smugly. "You want more?"
"Pardon me?" Aoki said, his shapely eyebrows rising to meet an advancing hairline.
"Excitement, sweetheart," Mitri explained tersely, exhaling from his mouth a smoke ring. Then noticing the tote beside the cot, which had been brought in by the surprised younger man who had sat down on the cot opposite him, Mitri asked, "what have you in there?"
But Mitri had not waited for an answer. He reached out instead for the tote and then peeked into its deep hollow. Smiling, he turned the tote upside down, emptying all the contents inside it. He lifted up each item and named it out loud as if to tease the blushing Aoki.
"Cuffs?" Mitri said. "Strap! Oh-ho, a cane, huh? Nice."
Aoki ventured a shy smile.
"It's all that control, you know," Aoki explained, "all week. I only wanted to ...."
"Turn the tables?" Mitri said, completing what Aoki found difficult to do. "That it? Who is it? Who do you desire to control you?"
"Everybody else, I guess," Aoki stammered, embarrassed that a total stranger could so easily read him.
"Be specific," Mitri pursued.
"Okay, I meant the clients," Aoki explained.
"Be more specific," Mitri urged.
"Okay, okay," Aoki sighed, "his name's Euan. He's an important client. But don't ask me to tell you more. Client's right to confidentiality, you understand."
"Sure," Mitri nodded, his tone and mien changing, becoming edgier, "I understand. I also understand what it is you want. Now get up."
"What?" Aoki whispered, aware what was about to transpire but surrendering to the need to contexualize.
"I said get up, boy," Mitri reiterated.
Aoki hesitantly rose from the cot. As he stood, he felt a slight tremble in his knobby knees. He knew it was happening. His fantasy was about to be actualized by this stranger he had met just half an hour ago, and he found he had a Delphian urge to submit to the stranger.
It was now or never, and he knew this also.
Mitri was pacing the tiny perimeters around Aoki's zone of comfort, studying and assessing him with painstaking thoroughness. Standing once more in front of Aoki, the naked stranger with the GI haircut now ordered: "Take off your clothes, boy, all the way to your underwear, and do it quickly."
He did. Aoki couldn't help but do it. So, very soon after, Aoki was quite naked, standing there in his white underwear, his penis hardened and grown to six inches from the time he had started to remove his shirt and pants, and straining against his underwear. Mitri paced around him again, making him blush even more, and he knew his penis had reached its full length by now. Mitri returned to face him, standing with his arms akimbo.
"Remove your underwear," Mitri commanded Aoki.
Aoki slowly but most surely found himself obeying again, peeling away his white briefs and stepping out of them. Mitri watched with interest his new slave's penis at last freed from the constrictions of his briefs. It was bopping about in the air with some urgency, dripping with pre-cum.
"On your knees, boy," Mitri now ordered his red-faced slave.
Aoki sank his knees to the floor, and thereafter felt a hand on the back of his head, pushing him forward. He found his face in Mitri's naked crotch, his rod-hard tool against his lips. He took a deep breath, capturing the strong propulsion of his new master's scent. Aoki loved the way his new master smelled and he groaned.
"Make me cum," Mitri ordered.
Aoki did not need to be told a second time for, after all, he did find this strange man irresistible. Clamping his mouth on Mitri's immense meat, he rolled it around with his tongue, making his master groan out loud. That excited him just as much, and he proceeded to piston Mitri's fertility with his mouth. In and out, and round and round, he let his own talented tongue and lips rotate and squeeze Mitri's smooth phallus. Mitri was soon grunting while he vigorously gyrated and thrust his pelvis, pumping with all his central gravitational force against Aoki's face.
"Ahhh!" Mitri suddenly yelled, spurting his wad down his slave's throat, while he continued to twist his pelvis until he felt the last drop of his semen milked dry from his virility and swallowed up by Aoki.
"Get on the bed, boy, face down," Mitri ordered a bit later, feeling pleased with his new slave's performance.
Aoki moved towards the cot and lay down upon it on his stomach. He next heard the command to grasp the bedposts and spread his thighs. Shortly after, he heard the clinging of metal behind him and then beside him, and not long after, watched his own wrists being cuffed to the bedposts. Nor did he conceal from Mitri his gasp of happy surprise at this move.
Mitri smiled and having ensured that Aoki would come to no harm from being manacled, he left the boy to continue gasping and wondering, moving toward the tote under the cot. He reached for the rattan cane unseen. Advancing slowly back towards the boy, Mitri held the cane to level with the latter's eyes.
"Is this what you want?" Mitri teased, stroking Aoki's philtrum with the tapered end of the cane.
Aoki nodded, his eyes widening and his Adam's apple nervously sliding up and down his throat.
"I didn't hear you, boy," Mitri scolded.
"Yes," Aoki whimpered, his eight-inch hurting under his stomach, longing for attention.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir," Aoki replied.
"Yes, sir, what?"
"Yes, sir, I want it."
"Tell me exactly what you want, boy."
"I want to be caned, sir."
"What was that again?"
"I said I want to be caned, please, sir."
"Ask for it, boy."
"Please, sir, please cane my backside, sir."
"That's right, boy, a caning to your bottom is exactly what you're getting," Mitri said, lifting the instrument of sweet torment over his head. Suddenly and swiftly, the cane fell back down on Aoki's buttocks to deliver the first lash.
THWACK!
"Uhh!" the boy moaned.
"You liked that?" Mitri snickered.
"Yes, sir," Aoki winced.
"You want it again?"
Aoki nodded, still wincing, his face telling more truths of the moment than words ever would.
"Say you want it, boy," Mitri ordered.
"I want it, sir," Aoki pleaded complaisantly, "please cane my bottom again, please, sir."
Mitri had already lifted the cane above his shoulders, waiting for signs of relaxed muscles. He detected this shortly and then pummeled the naked backside that lay under him with successive strokes. He had varied the distance which he had placed one stroke from another and the force applied to its delivery.
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! - whistled the cane in dulcet refrains.
When Aoki began to substitute his moans of pain with sobs and howls of pleasure, Mitri dropped the cane and slid onto the cot behind his crying boy's lacerated backside. Caressing the boy's spine gently, Mitri inserted his left-hand middle finger into the latter's _s_h_i_t_hole and afterward used his right hand to spank away at his bottom cheeks while his finger simultaneously stimulated the hole. In due course, Aoki unloaded his seed, soiling the mattress, crying and panting without shame as he did, and finally when all was said and done, the two new acquaintances ended the night in tight embrace.
Aoki had felt so good. For the first time he had felt that he hadn't needed to be in control, not of people or of events, and certainly not of his emotions. How liberating it had been to be the helpless marionette while Mitri pulled his strings, and how cathartic to be able to give a channel to his tears.
And that had been one of Aoki's most memorable experiences at the bathhouse. He sure hoped to see Mitri again, maybe tonight itself, but he had a hollow feeling that this might be just a remote possibility.
There was now an hour to go before Aoki clocked out for another bathhouse adventure. "Tonight's another night," he said to himself in joyous anticipation.
But tonight was going to be different: Aoki had promised himself that tonight he was going to go out on a limb to experience level three enjoyments. A level three enjoyment usually meant that an orgy was one's flavor.
But customers for an orgy were an elite few, and the men who took part in it were known to assume a discriminatory stance regarding new recruits and clients. So Aoki was prepared to be turned away. After all, those men were groupie-types and apropos to the term, were usually found already congregating together at the poolside or the bar. They were distinguishable by the matching towels they had colluded to wear around their waists. Some even chose to saunter nude, unabashed about letting it all hang out. If a Johnny-come-lately wished to join the group, he simply indicated by moving towards the group. Exchange of words was not necessary and if one were not welcome, one was simply turned away by a gesture, usually a shake of the head, or a smile, if one were welcome. It was no secret to regular patrons that being in an orgy with this group was the ultimate experience in temporal male bonding.
Yes, Aoki whispered to himself, tonight he was going to swing.
But Aoki was going to need some luck also, certainly better luck than he was getting trying to obtain a semblance of acceptance from his colleagues. He would just have to wait and see if tonight he would get his turn of the friendly card.