Ashero Hot Springs Misunderstanding

The snow was coming down heavy when I drove the rental car off the ferry in Tomakomai, the port city of the Japanese island of Hokkaido. It didn't relent as we drove the fifteen miles northwest to the traditional hot springs inn Professor Blackwell had booked us into on Lake Shikotsu. He was due to give lectures at Hokkaido University in Sapporo, further into the interior of the island, but he had wanted to have the traditional Japanese hot springs experience before we got there. I was along as his twenty-two-year-old graduate student assistant and to warm his bed. I suppose, being half Japanese, but all American in upbringing, I was to be part of his emersion over the Christmas break in all things Japanese.

My problem was that I wasn't warming his bed. So far, all I'd been to him on this trip to Japan was his chauffeur and valet. He was overdoing it to exhibit that I was just one of his students, not a sex partner. I was highly sexed. I'd looked forward to this trip as letting us hang it all out without worrying where his wife was. I liked older men, he was good-looking and in great shape for his age, and sex with him had been just fine. But that had unexpectantly stopped as soon as we landed in Japan. The three days we'd been in Tokyo before coming to Hokkaido hadn't been at all what I'd expected.

So far the Japanese element Hal Blackwell had emersed himself in the most was sake and more sake, and if Blackwell was getting it on in Tokyo, it was with someone who was fully Japanese, not just half, as I was.

I had driven to the inn in Hokkaido because he would have driven us the wrong way off the ferry in the Tsugaru Strait. He was one of those American elitists who had to be chauffeured. He didn't drive. So far on this trip he also hadn't touched me--and I wasn't used to be ignored sexually like this.

As it was, we were lucky to get to the old Japanese-style inn at the Ashero Hot Springs before I'd driven into a snowbank, it was snowing so hard. Once there, we were shown to our room. No one raised an eyebrow that we were sharing a room because Blackwell had selected this inn carefully. It was an inn where gay men were able to meet discreetly. The professor went almost immediately to a snoring sleep on the low platform bed. If I'd thought we'd have sex here at last, I thought wrong.

The inn was quite atmospheric. We'd left our shoes at the door. The floors were of highly polished golden wood covered here and there by tatami mats with low tables set around as the only furniture, some with silk pillows by them and others supporting bonsai trees and pottery urns. The walls were rice paper screens in dark-wood frames. Everything was stark, pristine, and aesthetically pleasing. Condom packets, bottles of lube, and dildos were tucked away in night stand drawers. Restraints were tucked up under the four corners of the bed frame. I found it sexually arousing, although also frustrating, as here was no evidence that Blackwell was going to take advantage of my mood.

The building was a series of pavilions set on a slope above the lake and surrounding a Japanese garden with a bubbling hot springs pool meandering through it, creating small, isolated pools hidden by dense foliage. The attendants, all young males other than the older host who met us, wore Japanese kimonos, robes, with loin cloths--fundoshi--as undergarments. The host's kimono was scarlet, with an embroidered golden dragon weaving around on it. The attendants wore black kimonos with white dragons on them and a white fundoshi. They all moved silently, with heads respectfully bowed. They were all handsome, well-built young men. The kimonos were artfully arranged so that enough of the attendants' chests and abs were exposed to confirm the were all built.

I was happy to consider that I fit right in with them once I'd changed into a kimono over a fundoshi, with, like most of them, my black silky hair in a bun at the back of my head. I was enough Japanese looking and built well enough that I could have been one of them.

The professor was sober enough to notice that and to say I'd fit right in. I chose to take that to mean I also was a handsome young man rather than that I was as subservient to him as these attendants were. But I guess since I was being his bed boy on this trip--when he wanted me, which wasn't at all so far--the word "subservient" fit me. I certainly was his valet and gofer. If only he commanded me into submission, I would be happy being subservient to him sexually. But he was a little wishy washy in the sexual domination department even back in Boston. I'd thought it was him always worrying about his wife catching us. But his wife wasn't here.

I was not pleased that Blackwell zonked out as quickly as he did. The drive in the snow hadn't worn me out. It had made me tense and jumpy. The host noticed that and suggested that I try out the hot springs before bedding down. There was only the one bed in the room, so the host had no illusions what I was there for. I'd read the brochures on this place. I could tell, reading between the lines, and seeing a photo of two guys together here that this place was gay friendly. I had thought that was why Blackwell had chosen it. I had been looking forward to nights in bed with Blackwell with no worry about being caught fucking.

A soothing soak in a hot springs sounded like a great idea to me. The host also told me that, while we were here, we were to wear the traditional Japanese clothing designated for the guests--gold kimonos, with a scarlet dragon weaving on it. My fundoshi was scarlet. An attendant led me to an isolated bend in the hot springs. He was called away and motioned me to wait for him to return before going into the pool, but I didn't wait. I stripped off the kimono, letting it puddle at my feet on the stones, and slipped into the springs. I immediately started to relax, the bubbling water doing magic on my muscles and disposition. The attendant returned, gave me a strange look that indicated I had done something wrong, but he wasn't about to make an issue of it, and, giving a shrug, he left.

I looked around and saw an even-more secluded section of the hot springs, an oval pool area almost totally surrounded by a narrow stone terrace and dense, snow-dusted foliage and with a cloud of steam rising from the surface. I swam over to, into, and at the far end of the remote pool section.

I was lying in the water, my arms stretched out on the rim of the pool, when an older man, in a gold kimono, and two attendants appeared on the stone terracing on the opposite side of the pool. I figured out then what I was supposed to do in waiting for my attendant to reappear. The two attendants, calling the older man Shogun Furukawa, helped him take off both his kimono and fundoshi. He was perhaps one side or the other of sixty. He was tall, solidly built, not quite fat, but hard-bodied. He was graying and rugged looking, but had most likely been quite handsome in his day. He obviously was a military man, and I deduced that "shogun" must be a military title for general. He gave the impression of being battle worn, too, as there were scars--pock marks and healed slash marks on his torso and thighs.

The attendants handed him a couple of pills and a porcelain cup. He took the pills and washed them down with whatever was in the cup. I only later learned what the pills were for. He crouched down into a squat that Asians seemed to easily manage when Americans--even as young and fit as I was--couldn't, and the attendants sluiced him down with water from small wood buckets, filled from a nearby spigot.

So, that had been my sin, I reasoned. I was supposed to be sluiced down and to enter the hot springs naked and clean. My bad. Couldn't do anything about that now.

While the attendants worked on the general--I thought of him now in my mind as the general--he looked at me intently from across the pool, and I could see that he hardened, his cock, which formerly had respectable length and girth was now engorging into monstrous size and hardness. This, thus, was an explanation for the pills he had taken. I didn't know then why he would need to be in erection to dip in the hot spring. I didn't then see the relationship to me being in the hot springs as well. He touched himself, not taking his slitted gaze at me from across the pool.

The general was uncut. He pulled the foreskin of his engorged cock back to expose the mushroom cap, and a pinky finger went to his urethra slit, spreading it open and worrying it with the tip of his finger. All the time he was looking at me from across the pool.

I shuddered in arousal. I was in heat myself and had been stroking myself in the pool before he arrived. I had stopped when he and the attendants appeared, but now, seeing him in huge erection and with a very good body for his age, I resumed stroking myself. I returned the old man's lustful gaze. The water was transparent, which I wasn't thinking about, and I think he could see me slowly jacking myself. His hand went to stroking his cock, maintaining the pinky connection with his cock slit. The attendants didn't seem to notice or at least didn't appear to.

After washing him down, the attendants helped the general lower himself into the pool across from me and they departed.

We were there, the two of us, in a privacy area lush with tropical foliage that was dusted with snow. The pool itself, though, was quite warm and dotted with gas bubbles. We eyed each other, and he smiled at me.

"Koki ni kite," he said, his voice commanding, almost a growl. Then, when I gave him a confused response and said I looked Japanese but that I was American and didn't speak the language, he said in Oxford-quality English, "Ah, Gaikoku hito baishunpu. Come here. Come to me." Of course I didn't know that Gaikoku hito baishunpu translated to "foreign prostitute." It would have clarified the situation if I'd known what he'd called me. He was every inch the general. His voice was commanding, leaving no room for argument.

I was in heat and I'd already been thinking of him on top of me, inside me. I don't think I'd ever sheathed a cock as thick and long as his was at this moment. I didn't know if I could. I ached to try.

I moved across the pool. When I reached him, he opened his arms and drew me onto his lap. His erection slid up between my thighs. His hips rocked a bit in the water, the shaft moving between my thighs. His hands glided over my torso, fondling and massaging.

I was trembling and moaning low. He knew I wanted to be fucked. It didn't matter that he wasn't requesting--that it was much more that he was commanding.

"Anata no ana o kudasai. Anata no honshitsu o watashi ni kudasai," he commanded, and then, when he realized I would not understand, he translated, "Give me your hole. Give me your essence. Take my cock. Come for me."

"I don't know," I whispered. "You are so big. I don't know if I can." It wasn't a "no."

"You will," he declared, and the finality of that ended any pretense of resistance. I surrendered with a sigh.

His hand felt that I was still wearing my fundoshi, the material of which I had hooked under my balls when I was masturbating and which I then realized was something I should not have come into the pool with. He laughed, pulled it off me, and flipped it up onto the stones by the pool. With one hand still exploring my body, the other one gripped my cock and he slowly masturbated me, holding me tight as I was approaching ejaculation.

"Please, if you don't stop, I'll come," I whimpered.

"Hai. Yes, you will. Give me your essence."

I wantonly let him work my body to a finish, panting and moaning for him--releasing my seed for him, collapsing within his embrace, turning my face for a kiss. He didn't kiss me, though. He was a soldier--a general. He fucked. He didn't romance.

When I had come, he stood up in the pool, turned my body to where my legs were dangling in the pool and my belly was pressed to the cold stones, laced with moss at the side of the pool. I stretched my arms out in a sacrificial cruciform position on the stones, as the general squeezed my butt cheeks apart and buried his face in the crack. I continued panting and moaning while he ate me out. I was his slave.

"Yes, yes," I murmured. "Take me. Put it in me. Fuck me."

"Yes, I will fuck you, Anata wa chīsana shōfu--you little whore," the general growled, not bothering much with Japanese now. Talking dirty to me like that put me in higher heat, made me more submissive to his demand. I was wanton. I didn't care. He was a stranger, but he was a dominating stranger with a gigantic cock. This wasn't a negotiation. He would have me--and, as much heat as I was in--this was exactly how I wanted to be had. It wasn't the way Professor Blackwell fucked. I sometimes wanted it this way--a decisive, in-command man. And a man with a bigger cock than Blackwell had. A masterful man with a bigger cock than I'd ever sheathed before.

He rose up, hovering over me, close. He put himself in position.

"Watashi ni aitei. Anata no ashi o aite, watashi no kokku o torimasu--Open to me. Open your legs and take my cock." I pulled my knees up onto the lip of the pool and spread them as much as possible, surrendering my ass to the general.

"Oh, fuck! Oh, shit!" I cried out as he mounted me, breached my sphincter, and swiftly possessed me, forcing me open, stretching me to the limit, hard and huge inside my passage. The muscles of my channel walls trembled and began to ripple over the huge, pulsating shaft. I cried out; I panted hard and deep; I whimpered and sobbed. I managed, though. Just like that, I was his. No request. A vanquished slave to the conqueror.

I worked hard at stretching to accommodate him. When I had, he reached up, grasped my wrists, and held my arms spread and over my head while he vigorously and strongly fucked me. He was a master of the fuck, working me hard and totally, moving his filling cock to caress and conquer every surface of my channel, setting my passage muscles to undulating over his rhythmic deep thrusts and then into spasms as he changed the rhythm. I had never been fucked this well.

"Hai, hai, just like that," I murmured, using the only Japanese word I'd learned.

"Anata wa kawaī shōfudesu. Anata wa kakaku ni miau dake no kachi ga arimasu--You are a sweet little whore. Well worth the price," he whispered in my ear, taking my earlobe in his teeth. I wasn't listening to him as much as melding with his expert taking. Having me fully in his control, his hands moved from my wrists to pressing into my pecs, his thumbs rubbing my puff-up nipples. I was writhing under him in ecstasy, moving with him, my buttocks rocking to the rhythm of his thrusts. Pulling back his hips, thrusting forward. Me gasping and giving a little cry. Pulling back his hips--and thrusting forward. Again, and again, and again.

He was well into doing that when I felt him tense and suspend the pumping. Here it comes, I thought, realizing just then he wasn't using a condom. But he didn't ejaculate.

"Kuso. Korehanandesuka?" the general exclaimed. He raised his chest off my back, which caused me to look up too. Another young, Japanese man, about my age, had entered the secluded area and was looking at us in shock. He wasn't an attendant or another guest, because he was wearing a blue kimono. He was willowy and lithe--and almost too beautiful to be male.

"Gun no Shogun Furukawa?" the youth asked.

"Hai. Kuso." The general answered. I could tell from his tone that he was acknowledging who he was and that he was a bit confused and not particularly happy.

"Gomen, gomen," he said as he pulled himself off me, and out of me. "Sorry, so sorry," he repeated in English. "A terrible mistake. This young man was for me--the whore I paid for. Not you. I thought... when I saw you in the pool... that you were the prostitute being provided for me. But you aren't a prostitute, are you?"

"In some ways I am," I said, giving him an assuring little laugh. I, Kerry Konishi, had come to Japan with Professor Blackwell with the full understanding that he was paying for everything and would cover me whenever he wanted. If that wasn't a form of prostitution, I don't know what was. And here was a man more manly than Blackwell, albeit older, but more hung and more expert in the fuck.

"For you, this evening, I will be," I said.

"If you are sure--"

"I am sure," I said. "Make me your whore. Take me hard. Get your money's worth. Pay him but fuck me."

The general waved the young Japanese whore away as I moved from underneath him and he turned and sank back into the pool. Straddling his thighs with mine, I reached under me, positioned his erection, and slowly sank on it. Furukawa grasped my waist between his hands. I leaned back to a floating position jutting out from his belly, stretching my arms out to maintain a floating position on the heavy, bubbling water, and the general raised and lowered me on his cock, moving ever faster, ever deeper, until, with both of us crying out "Hai, hai, hai," he came in a gush deep in my core. Holding me there still, his shaft still hard deep inside me, he took my cock in his hand and masturbated me to my own second ejaculation.

Only at that point did we notice the inn's host and a bevy of attendants appear in a flurry of consternation. "Furukawa shogun, koko de nani ga okotte iru nodesu ka?" the host cried out. I didn't need a translation to know that what the general and I were doing wasn't on the inn's schedule. They may have scheduled the general with a male whore, but they hadn't done so with another one of their guests.

Pulling off the general, I quickly swam out of that pool and down the meandering waterway to where my kimono had been left. I leapt out of the pool, pulled the kimono on, and returned to my room, leaving cleanup of the situation to the general. Professor Blackwell was still in a deep sleep and snoring away. I stretched out beside him, but I had no reason on this night, at least, to try to initiate sex. The general had expertly done me. I only regretted that he hadn't carried me back to his room and continued to do me as long as his erection held.

* * * *

The next morning, we were served breakfast sitting on pillows by low tables in a communal dining room overlooking a snow-bound landscape down to the shore of Lake Shikotsu. The scene was pristine and serene. It was Christmas Day back in Boston, which was worlds away from where I now sat--in culture as well as distance. I had been transported. The general had done that for me the previous night. I no longer--here in this snow-clad Japanese inn and at this time--was an American college student. I was a Japanese geisha, in a geisha house, serving men who wanted to use my body.

I didn't want to be anywhere but here--with Professor Blackwell if he wished to take me back to our room, tie me to the bed, and use me mercilessly or by the general in one of the hot springs pools. I, loosely covered by a gold kimono, was feeling sleek and well fucked. We could see the auto court from here. The surface of the court and road leading out of the area had been cleared. Our car was cleared off, as well. We weren't stranded here. I was a bit disappointed we weren't.

The general, clad in a gold kimono, was at a table in my line of sight--but not Blackwell's. He was seated alone. Our eyes met and he smiled at me and gave a small salute. His eyes slitted and an aura of lust floated across his face. I knew he was thinking of the previous night--with me, I the hot springs pool. I felt myself going hard and flushing. Making sure I was watching, he let his kimono slit below his waist, showing he wasn't wearing a fundoshi and that his was in half erection. He called the host to his side and spoke to him and the host came over to our table.