(This is a visit to the dark side, as in power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely ... as in treatment of the tribal in-group, as compared to strangers. It is not a pleasant story. Sorry. Aggression and exploitation on the one hand, submission and reluctant acquiescence on the other. But many males, I sense, may at sometime or another have wondered (fantasised?) what it might be like to select a woman at random from a foreign culture, betrothed to another, and use her sexually to his heart's desire – with the husband nearby – and, in the process, discover that the misused wife becomes as aroused and excited as he himself becomes. That's what this is. You have been warned.)
One of the perks of being the Chairman of the board is that up-and-coming business executives who work in your far-flung empire fawn at your feet. Sometimes their wives do to. Sometimes they make their wives fawn.
Japan, this visit, was a pain. It often is. Japanese food, saki and rice and raw fish and seaweed, bowing and scraping and lowering of eyes, drinking and karaoke and always having to prove you are one of the boys. Which is why I make it a habit, whenever I'm in Tokyo, to stay away from the nightspots. Instead, I hire the best suite in the best hotel in the city, and insist on meeting the wives. They aren't sure what to do, nor are the husbands. The reason for this is that Japanese salarimen, as they call themselves, don't normally involve their wives in the business, of their business. Which is what can make it fun, when you do!
I had done so tonight. I'd picked the six youngest, brightest, best looking Japanese executives in our Tokyo Marketing department – figuring if they were impressive their wives would be too – and told them to be in my suite, with their wives, for dinner at eight. I told them I wanted to get to know them better, and that where I came from wives were regarded every bit as important to the make-up of the man, as their professional qualifications. The chosen few had smelled advancement, even promotion, so nodded with enthusiasm. I told them to dress up their pretty ladies. They had. And dress themselves up too. They had. Smart Western suits for the men. Stylish dresses for stylish wives of savvy salarimen who were on their way up in the world, for the lucky ladies. All had turned up, as required. As expected.
One of the wives, in particular, was an absolute knock-out. Just married. Her name was Yumi. (Nice name.) She wore a form-hugging silver jersey dress with a row of pearl buttons down the front. I sat her as far from me as I could during dinner. Same with her husband. I could see they were both disappointed by this. At the end of the meal, when I waved the two of them up to the head of the table – cigars coming out, the port going round, all the usual gaijin crap, (but they were joining in: when the Chairman of the Board says 'jump', you jump!) – their expressions changed.
"So this is your wife?" I said to Taganaki. (That was his name.) He nudged her, but she was already well into her bow. (Well brought up little wife that she was.) "I'd like to borrow her," I said, with my best smile, coming to my feet. I could sense Taganaki swell with anticipated reward. His wife, the chosen one, from all the wives here, by the Chairman of the Board. I nodded to my local chief. He knew what to do.
The music – slow dancing – came on. I called out, over the opening bars of music, to the two rows of faces that were turned respectfully towards me from either side of the long table. "Now we dance," I announced. "Only one rule, you don't dance with your wife!" I took Mrs Taganaki's elbow and steered her towards the tiny patch of dance floor in the middle of the suite. Her husband bowed, possibly thinking he'd made it. First dance by the Chairman was to be with his new bride. With stars in his eyes he made for the next nearest woman and asked her to dance. Wanting to be seen 'fitting in' by the Chairman of the Board, no doubt.
"Come with me, my dear," I said to his wife as a little to her surprise, (though she hid it well,) I led her over the dance floor to a pair of impressive double doors. The doors to the suite's impressive bedroom. I opened them. Another twinge of hesitation as she noted the huge bed in the large room beyond. But again, she controlled it well. My hand, in the small of her back lightly steered her in. As I turned, to close the doors behind us, I noted most of the dinners were already on the tiny dance-floor by the terrace. 'Fitting in' with their Chairman's wishes, (though mostly looking the other way).
Well satisfied, I closed the door behind us. Yumi and me.
The master bedroom was enormous, with a view over Tokyo that was spectacular. One wall was floor to ceiling glass. The drapes were open. The bedside lights were on either side of the large king-sized bed, already turned down. Other than that it was the reflected light from the view, and the moon, close to full, that bathed the room in a soft dreamy light.
"Nice view, huh?" I said to my rather lovely, and appropriately respectful Yumi. Twenty-two or twenty-three years old I reckoned. Lovely face. No, a beautiful face. Soft, chocolate-coloured eyes. Black hair cut neatly, stylishly short. The music came quietly through the door. She nodded: nice view. I wondered if she could speak English, although it didn't matter if she couldn't.
I took her hand. She gave it to me cautiously, held my fingers the way she figured she should, (I guess). I led her to the view. She came, obediently. When she arrived at the window, I said, "Now we'll dance, like the others outside, and I shall get to know you." She clearly did speak English, or at least understood it, for she turned and held out her arms. "No, no, my dear," I said, though was pleased she understood. "This view is too good to waste. We'll face the view and dance so that we both may enjoy it." A puzzled frown came over her picture perfect face, so I turned her to the view, moved behind her, and put my arms around waist.
A pert little rear fitted neatly into my crotch, her shoulders and back against my chest and abdomen; the hair at the top of her head lightly tickled my nose. I moved my arms further round her rather cuddly little body, and started to dance – or rather, I started to move from one foot to another, moving my crotch against a pleasantly tight little ass. She hesitated, but only for a second, then lightly rested her hands on the arms which encircled her, and started to move as I did. What would be going through her mind, in that pretty little head of hers I wondered. 'How far will this go?' no doubt.
I wondered what conclusion she would reach?
I have found, in the past, that there are essentially two ways you can play this sort of thing – if you are in my shoes, that is. You can either be cautious and subtle, think of their feelings, and tread with care; or you can dispense with subtlety altogether, discount their feelings entirely, and do whatever the heck you want. With the highly delectable Yumi I had more or less decided, as soon as I saw her come into the suite on the arm of her husband, that I would do what I wanted. (With her.) She had that effect on a man, you could say.
Although I suspect this is more a philosophical point than an ethical stance, I am also inclined to believe that the more powerful the organisation you are in charge of, the less consideration those working under you, or those supporting those who work under you, need realistically expect – and the multinational group of companies I head is as expansive as the window I was looking through, and as huge as the bed at my back!
"I've always liked Tokyo," I said, stretching the truth just a tad, as I slid the flat of my hand over a rewardingly flat and firmly girlish stomach. (No children yet, quite clearly.) I let it descend towards her pubis, which on her, I discovered when I got there, was aggressively prominent. (She froze when I touched her there, but nothing more, and then relaxed.) My other hand I ran up her front, to her breasts. She froze a second time as my hand reached its target and cupped a surprisingly plump handful. Her feet stopped moving. So did her hips. Her legs had already snapped straight.
