A Basket Case
Submitted By: MasterShujina

  font-size:17pt">A Basket Case

Thursday, August 13, 2009

12:53 AM

Disclaimer: This Chapter is restricted to adults at least 18 years or older only. In some countries, the minimal age is 21. It is your responsibility to ensure no one under the legal age in your area views this material. In addition, this chapter also contains references to acts uncommon to daily life and should not be attempted by yourself. This autobiography is based on my life as it happened and should not be mimicked under any circumstances. The author is not responsible for any harm, actual or perceived from reenacting or viewing the material contained herein. Read at your own risk.

 

It was a rainy day in November. I opened the hatch of my Sunny (Nissan) Coupe 2000 and placed my luggage inside. I was going to take Route 4 north to Hokkaido on a business trip. I kissed my pregnant[1] wife good-bye and headed north from our apartment house on Nogata Street, in the Nakano Ward of Tokyo. As I merged into the heavy traffic, I thought, 'Why not stop over in Yokohama before heading up north on business?' (This would be the decision that would have the most profound effect on my entire life.) Yokohama; I was well acquainted with its charm and mysticism (especially to a foreign adult male) - the nightlife was action filled and available 24/7. Isezaki-cho: over 1 mile of bars, women, Turkish Baths, women, hotels (offering hourly rates), women, stores, and no police (the Yakuza policed this area to ensure their best interests were preserved). (Did I mention women?) I remember this place from my childhood. I grew up at a military base a few hours from Tokyo and about one hour from Yokohama. The tourist trade was now beginning to interest the Yakuza. The adult entertainment (porn and bars) was giving way to the millions of dollars tourists were spending on sex.

 

My mind started to drift in remembering those times. A young male adolescent in a place where the legal age for drinking was three foot six (you just had to be tall enough to put the money on the bar counter. And if you weren't, many bar girls would be glad to help you.). Back then a beer was about $1.25. Then there was Akafune's with the huge sign over the door; "Akafune's Sex Drugs". They carried every conceivable sex aid or toy. They even had a series of plaques hanging on the wall, showing the various stages of VD (an eye opener, at least). You could buy anything there including Spanish Fly in many forms, liquid, candy, pills, or powder. And if you read the Ian Fleming novel "You Only Live Twice" (not the movie which left it out), you will notice Akafune's was the place where Bond's co-agent bought the drug which recovered his memory. Oh, yes, pleasant memories for sure. So why not? I could use a few hours of pleasure before the 12 hour drive up north. I turned around and headed south for Yokohama's famed bar district: Isezaki-cho (cho means street). I made it to Yokohama in record time; anticipation being my co-pilot. I knew the ¥10,000 my wife gave me to "entertain" myself, would not last more than a couple of hours in this district. My favorite bar was the Planet Club, a three story building converted into a bar, dance hall, and hotel to serve the Merchant Marine fleets that frequented this part of the world. The

Peanuts club down the street was my second favorite. I parked the car on a side street and walked into the Planet Club. Not too busy this hour of the morning which was a good thing (greater selection of companionship). I do not even remember the name of the girl who came up to me, slid her arm under mine, and escorted me to a secluded table. The typical bar girl treatment. "You buy me drink?" she whispered in my ear. "I show you a good time, yes?" "ippai dake!" I replied. Kind of funny, I speaking the Japanese (Only one drink) and she the English (broken but understandable). Asahi (Morning Sun) was my favorite beer; I ordered one and one 'champagne' (watered down tea actually) for the lady. She threw one leg up and over my lap, hiding her hand that was unzipping my pants. When she had my cock in her hand, she whispered, "You want number one hand job? Only ¥2,500!".  "I give you number one job!" she added in a hurry. "No Thanks" I politely replied. Her hand started a slow massage on my hard cock. "I show you. I number one hand job!" she spurted as she smiled. "ie!" I reemphasized my earlier declination with a harder 'No!'.

 

I heard a voice bark in Japanese, "Yamete! Kare wa watashi no O-tokuisama desu!" (Stop! He is my regular customer). Strange, I thought since I really wasn't her regular. She left with a grunt and leaving my cock hanging out. I turned to see who had chased away my hand job. She was very distinguished (probably the owner of the club). She sat down and apologized for her counterpart's behavior and ordered a flask of Sake as a piece offering. The waiter brought the flask and two sake cups and set them on the table (for your edification, these weren’t the typical ceramic cups but the extremely rare, old wooden ones. I should have known something was up). The woman who had yet to identify herself removed a small thermometer from her cleavage and put it in the flask of Sake. She, indeed, must be the owner. She pulled it out and smiled as she read the thermometer and said "Kazen-na!" (Perfect). She poured my Sake with the customary two handed Geisha-style. I assumed from her demeanor that she was well-versed in those arts as well. Even at my young age, I knew Geisha did not equate to whore but to a very long training in all things including pleasuring a man and who won the World Series in 1957. She probably started her training at the age of 7.  Pouring Tea properly, alone, took years to master. I placed the Sake cup to my lips and threw it down my throat. I slammed it down on the table to show my respect for the rice wine and to which my new acquaintance had no alternative but to refill my empty cup. Then I glanced over to see her staring down at my half-hard cock lying out on my lap. She picked it up in her hand, bent over, kissed it, and replaced it in my pants.

 

By this time, the rice wine had begun to take it hold on my senses. I felt flushed and out of place. The lady next to me was out of focus and my memory was a bit fuzzy also. I vaguely remember her taking my hand and saying "iko!" (Let's go!). I got to my feet somehow and thought 'Where is she taking me? I must have impressed her.' I followed behind her like I was in her flock of sheep. We took the elevator to the third floor of the bar. ("Never been up here." I thought to myself). What happened next, stills feels surrealistic; like it was all part of a fantasy dream. There was this room; empty save a table and hanging basket plant over it like a Mother Nature chandelier. It was really dark, I could barely see. She propped me up against the table and told me to lay down and get some rest. The table was hard but I was so tired and there was that soft sound of ocean waves coming from the speakers on the wall. I did as she said. I fell into a deep sleep.

 

I don't know how long I was asleep, but I awoke to a strong sense of cinnamon. I opened my eyes slowly. The room was still dark but I could make out three women standing around the table; the boss being one of them. I soon noticed that I was cold and immobilized. I looked down and I saw I was naked; strapped down to the table. The girls were speed-talking in Japanese. I could make out very few of their words. I still had some cobwebs in my brain clouding my judgment (I didn't even notice (right away) that the girls were also nude). Their bodies were the typical Japanese build; small, low-slung hips, small breasts with huge nipples, and a very hairy mound. I started to feel an extreme warmth on my soft cock. I looked down and one of the girls was massaging it with oil. The oil smelled of cinnamon and was really, really warm. It wasn't long before my cock was standing full at attention, rock hard. One of the other girls (not the boss) walked over to the wall next to the shoji (paper) door. The boss had climbed up on the table over my body and sat on my face as she spread her butt cheeks wide apart to give my mouth easy access to her pussy. I almost couldn't breathe since both my mouth was well-sealed tightly against her pussy and my nose was just about up her asshole. I did what any red-blooded American boy would have done; take advantage of the situation. I drove my tongue deep into her pussy, spreading her cunt-lips to allow deeper penetration. It felt odd but I felt her ejaculating into my mouth. It had no smell and a faint taste so it wasn't urine. Anyway, it flowed out of my mouth and down my chin like little rivers. She groaned as she squirted her cum in my mouth and then slid her butt forward forcing my tongue over her asshole. She wiggled her butt so I had to sample it. She groaned louder this time, soaking my upper chest. She removed herself from the table and I gasped for breath. She smiled and kissed me full on the mouth. The girl standing by the door grabbed a rope that was tied to a hook next to the door. Funny, I hadn't noticed the rope or hook before. Then she appeared to be releasing the rope little by little and something caught my eye; the basket plant hanging over the table was been lowered over my genital area. One of the girls reached up and removed the plant from the basket. The other girl was still massaging my hard cock, stopping every few moments to ensure I didn’t explode prematurely. I still had no idea what was happening except I felt really good.

 

The boss came out of nowhere and climbed up on the table once again. This time she stood over my head, a foot on each side, about a foot and a half apart. I looked up, right into her slit. She was bathing her pussy and ass in the warming oil. Streams of it running down her legs, forming puddles on the table. What a lovely sight! The Cinnamon scent was almost overpowering as she walked forward toward the basket. The basket was suspended from the roof by a swivel hook. The rope went from the basket, through the hook and over to the wall where one girl was securely holding the basket steady over my groin. The boss reached the basket and turned around to face me. The girl giving me a hand job; stopped and stood up. She helped the boss into the basket; her head lying over the back side and her legs hanging over the front side. Her arms were clasping the ropes on both sides of the basket. The assistant knelt down and seemed to be positioning the boss in the basket. The girl on the wall, managed to pull on the rope to raise the basket higher over me, while the assistant positioned it over me, signaling the wall girl to lower the basket when she had it aligned. Inch by inch, they slowly lowered the basket until it was inches above my hard cock. The assistant leaned over to my ear and said, "Abanai! Shizukani!" (Watch Out! Be still!). She held my erect cock with one hand and kept the basket in position with the other hand as the wall girl lowered the basket down onto my hardness. The warmth from the oil on both parts of our bodies produced a feeling that is indeed impossible to describe. When the basket was fully lowered and she was impaled on my cock, the wall girl tied the rope back to the wall. I felt her hot pussy engulfing my cock. I almost came from the intensity of her pussy and the oil. It was a major undertaking to keep my cock from exploding. The wall girl came over to me and told me to be still. The assistant on the table jumped to the floor and moved closer to the basket.

 

I was at a loss for words, all five of my senses were being played. I had no idea what was about to happen. As the assistant held my cock at its very base and enwrapped my balls in her other hand as to protect them from something. The wall girl mumbled something indiscernible and they had a quick giggle (must have been a personal joke). She started to spin the basket slowly, repeatedly saying to me "Be Still!" Do Not Move!" I felt her well oiled pussy spin around my well-oiled, engorged cock. The assistant now had both hands, palms down, at the base of my cock immobilizing it. The wall girl had a bottle of the oil in one hand and kept the hole in the basket wet and slippery by pouring it down the inside of the basket every few minutes. The boss started moaning as soon as she was lowered further onto my throbbing cock. The assistant started to increase the speed of the basket and the Boss's breathing was getting heavier and faster with each rotation of the basket. I cannot begin to describe the feelings this basket fuck produced. Both the assistant and the wall girl began chanting..."ike nai yo! ike nai yo!" (Don't cum! Don't cum!) The basket was spinning quite fast now; her pussy was extremely wet, her cum mixing with the warming oil. She was screaming loudly now. My body was quivering, my breathing was fast and furious, my heart rate must have been way off the charts (glad I was only 23. It probably would have produced a heart attack in an older man). Every inch of my body was screaming for release while the girls were screaming otherwise. How much longer could I hold out? I was covered head to toe with our sweat, oil, and her cum. The basket was a blur, spinning like a top. It was a miracle that Boss's flailing legs didn't knock the girls out. Then I felt a flash flood of warmth and wetness flow down over my cock and hips as boss screamed "iku Yo! iku Yo!" (I'm coming! I'm coming). 'I don't care! I have to cum now or I will literally explode.' I let it go. I could feel my cum boiling in my balls and erupting up through my shaft and out into her cunt. Wave after wave after wave. As my body shuddered and convulsed, I could hear the assistant yell, don't come again. She was desperately trying to slow down if not stop the spin of the basket. I wouldn't stop even if could; the feeling was just overpowering and felt too good. The girls helped the boss out of the basket; off and away from the table. I lost track of them half way across the room. I was still tied to the table and that was the last I remember until I woke up some time later.

 

I was no longer tied to the table but I was still naked; my cock totally spent; off to one side of my groin. Man, I never had that kind of experience before. I started to think about what would have happened if the oil on my cock or on her pussy had dried up. "Not good my friends. Her cunt would have locked onto my cock and ripped it completely off.' I cringed thinking of it, but the intensity of my orgasms made it well worth the risk. Besides they seemed to have all the bases covered.

 

The girls came back in to help me into the O-furo (Japanese bath) to get cleaned up. I asked them about the boss but they kept shaking their heads 'no'. They bathed me from head to foot. I felt really great and asked to see the boss once again. They escorted me to that same table I sat at last time, whenever that was. My mind had cleared, somewhat. The wall lady went away; she came back a short time later with a message from the boss lady. It seems that she liked what she saw (in me) and wanted me to come out to her house in the country-side outside of Yokohama. How could I refuse? I had never been fucked like that in my whole life. So what if I arrived in Hokkaido a day late? I couldn't pass up an opportunity like this so I nodded my approval to the wall lady and followed her out the door. She led me to a special room in the back of the bar and told me to wait. There was a bar with three stools. The was an ice bucket and water pitcher on the counter top. Along side the ice bucket was a bottle of Absinthe.

 

Even with my young imagination, I hadn't a clue what was in store for me. I wasn't even close.

 

 

 

[1] She was pregnant with our first child. During her pregnancy, she often provided me an extra allowance for sex with a professional. She felt she could no longer satisfy me and considered sex with a professional strictly sex without attachment. Which it always was.

I have had several encounters with Absinthe; all have been memorable. This spirit has been vilified and banned in many countries for a long time.