Seduction of a Japanese Wife

Author's Note: This is a story of the seduction and exploitation of a traditional Japanese wife. For the sake of readability, I have opted used the first names of the main characters instead of the normal use of last names. Some of the dialogue may seem awkward, but such is to be expected when speaking in a second language. Please forgive any other discrepancies with your concept and knowledge of Japan and its people.

The standard discloser of everyone being eighteen-years or older, and all characters being fictional apply. Constructive comments and suggestions are always welcomed. Please enjoy the tale.

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Have you ever fucked a Japanese woman? I don't mean an American woman who is of Japanese descent or a Japanese national who is so westernized that she couldn't live in her own country. No, I'm talking about a woman who is, heart and soul, a creature of her ancestry, culture, and society regardless of what she may wear, what language she may speak, or what setting she may find herself.

Engrained in the very fabric of her female Japanese psyche is her acquiescence to members of the opposite gender and her devotion to the menfolk in her life. She bows lower when she encounters a man; humbly walks behind men; and defers to males. To please the man in her life, a Japanese woman will do whatever is necessary to cater to his masculine pride, whims, and fantasies.

This intrinsic trait manifests itself when a Japanese woman has sex. At first, she will enticingly exhibit her vulnerability and femininity with expressions of fidgeting and hesitation. When mounted, her eyes will be pressed shut as if in denial, and when taken, she will emit child-like whimpers with each thrust of his manhood. Yet, as her man exerts himself and nears his release, this once docile and reluctant woman will clutch her man to her, panting breathlessly in his ear of how he has made her a lust-consumed "yariman" (slut). By the time he ejaculates into her, her man will feel like a samurai of old - virile, strong, and dominant.

This is my story of Kiyomi whose very name meant "pure beauty" and how she became my mistress.

My name is Damon, and I'm a "gaijin," a term applied to non-Japanese foreigners and especially whites. Fifteen years ago, I flew into Tokyo to be an exchange instructor at a recognized national university. With a gift for language and a knack for social nuances, I effortlessly immersed myself into living in Japan and with its people. Easily adopting the customs and culture of my host nation. I then focused on learning and adapting to the subtleties of working with the Japanese within a higher education environment and satisfying their often inscrutable expectations.

As a result, my teaching of English at my small but highly prestigious University became a unique blend of western and Japanese styles. My classes were filled with real life situations on which I could fluently converse and explain the subtle distinctions in Japanese, easily transitioning from the East to the West. This innovative approach proved immensely popular to my young students who came to view my classes as a prerequisite to their future success in dealing with Westerners.

As the word spread, I drew the attention of the senior officials of the University. I, however, quickly attributed any academic success to the excellent guidance of my superiors and the outstanding support of my fellow instructors. By humbly opting to forego any personal recognition, I avoided the old Japanese adage that "the nail that stands out is hammered down." Through my subtle air of humility, deference to those around me, and selflessness for the good of my colleagues and the University, I gradually managed to gain their acceptance as a professional and then as a person.

My superiors were quick to see how my presence enhanced the prestige of their faculty and gave them an air of innovativeness. Eager to gain an edge over competing universities in the recruitment of prospective students, they made a bold and unprecedented move by offering me a permanent instructional position. After humbling accepting their gracious offer and demonstrating a willingness to share with and assist my colleagues, I steadily rose within the academic department to positions of leadership and eventually became its first gaijin chair.

In wanting a top-notched English department, my superiors found that their gaijin chair's non-Japanese qualities had other advantages. They inserted into my department head duties the responsibility of hiring, mentoring, and assessing new instructors. My superiors knew that they could rely on my foreignness to buffer them from the unpleasantness of having to release probationary faculty members who didn't meet the University's standards. While it became widely accepted that I could make or break the career of an aspiring teacher, I never abused or misused this heady sense of power - that is until I met Ichiro, a probationary instructor, and more importantly his wife, Kiyomi.

"Damon-san," intoned the President of the University in a special private afternoon tea, "there is a 'delicate matter' that we wish you to deal with."

"Hai, sensei (Yes, teacher/master)," I calmly but swiftly intoned with a bow of deference and attentiveness.

"You will have a young man by the name of Ichiro who at the start of the coming academic term, will be teaching basic English."

I nodded and weighing what was happening, immediately surmised several things. For the President to ask me to tea to discuss a new faculty member was unprecedented and meant that the situation was of significance. Being named "Ichiro" and bypassing the normal hiring process indicated that individual of discussion was the eldest son of a family of import. Lastly, the President's use of the unique phrase "delicate matter" meant that there was a problem in which I might have to play the hatchet-man role.

"Ichiro comes from a family of scholars," the President continued hesitantly, "His renowned father with whom I have worked with for many years, is a close associate. Recently my colleague contacted me to ask that his son be allowed to assume a faculty vacancy in your recognized department." Then with a tinge of regret, the President murmured, "You understand that I was honor bound to grant to my esteemed colleague's request despite my unspoken personal misgivings."

"Hai," I dutifully utter as I nodded and patiently waited.

The President with a worrisome shaking of his head, mutter with thinly-veiled concern that was laced with distaste, "Damon-san, from my dealings with Ichiro, I know him to be a man who has the omnipresent burden of bringing further honor to his family. While Ichiro is fluent in English, he is a proverbial...how do you say it...ah, bookworm...who was more adept at translating English than at teaching it. I fear that Ichiro will be out of his element in our University and will be doomed to be certain failure, bringing shame to his father and family."

Then with an enigmatic look that held hidden meanings, the President softly said, "That is...unless some redeeming reason for his salvation could be found. If not...we rely on 'you'...to judiciously and discretely do what needs to be done. Do you understand, Damon-san?"

Without no choice in the matter, all I could do was to utter, "Hai, sensei" and then bow deeply.

During our first meeting, I instantly understood the President's reservations and the nature of my challenge. Ichiro looked like he carried the weight of the world on his scrawny shoulders and had a look of worry painted on his thirty-three-year-old face. Given the traditional self-centricity of a first-born Japanese male, I suspected that Ichiro had been pampered and given preferential treatment for most of his existence. This job was probably his first test of manhood and life.

While Ichiro spoke perfect English, his conversation was devoid of personal interaction, spontaneity, and any emotion. Given that the man before me had a stilted mastery of English, zero charisma, and no interpersonal skills, Ichiro was sadly doomed before his first day of instruction. I also knew that I was screwed unless I could find something that might make Ichiro worth saving. After thoroughly assessing all of Ichiro's assets, I surprisingly discovered that Ichiro's only saving grace was his wife, Kiyomi.

Kiyomi was the epitome of the demure and cultured sensuality of Japanese women in their late-twenties. While she wasn't a stunning Asian beauty, Kiyomi was what the Japanese referred to as "kawaii" or that certain wholesome, natural cuteness. Shorter than her gangly husband by several inches, she was a unique combination of being petite but with shapely curves in her hips, buns, and especially bust.

As amazing as it may seem, Kiyomi sported what can only be described as a "breathtaking rack" that I would later discovered were natural C-cup breasts on her diminutive figure. It was apparent that she was self-conscious of her breasts as evidence by the modest loose clothing that she wore. However, what she didn't realize was that her efforts to downplay and disguise her mammary endowments only caused them to be noticed more by others.

Kiyomi was first and foremost a dutiful wife who did her best to assist her husband's career. Ichiro's clothes were always clean and neatly pressed, but it didn't matter for he wore them like the proverbial absent-minded professor. Kiyomi's homemade bentos (boxed lunches) for Ichiro were mouthwatering, but he ate them without even tasting them. She crafted little holiday keepsakes for the departmental faculty and staff, but they were often found well after the event forgotten is some corner of Ichiro's office.

As if to compensate for Ichiro's individual quirks and social awkwardness, Kiyomi never failed to bring snacks and stop to chat with the department' office women, endearing herself to them. At University socials or functions, she charmed Ichiro's male colleagues with her pleasantries, trying to give Ichiro an opportunity (which he never failed to squander) to join in the discussion and camaraderie.

Even my normally stoic superiors weren't immune to Kiyomi's social grace and physical attributes, and couldn't help but be envious of our newest faculty member. "What a shame," I overheard the University President remark to the other senior members of institution's leadership. "How incongruous is the image of that pasty-face feeble Ichiro wallowing between the pleasure valley of Kiyomi's billowy bosom. Sigh! Such a waste!"

Aware of the precarious status of her husband as a probationary faculty member, Kiyomi casually made it a point to become familiar with Ichiro's superiors especially me, his departmental chair. I must say that I enjoyed our individual conversations and her personal attention since they gave me a better opportunity to admire her cuteness and obvious physical delights.

"I have heard, Damon-san, that you like to sail during the holidays? My, it must be wonderful to escape the worries of the city and to be out on the ocean," chimed Kiyomi sweetly as we found ourselves alone at a social gathering. "It must be exhilarating especially during the summer months. What a pleasure to be in the sun after a long winter - and to be free and away. Ah, how I envy you."

The instant image of Kiyomi lounging in on my sloop in swimsuit - no, a bikini - a rather teeny-weeny string bikini at that - caused my trouser snake to instantly stir and forced me to quickly recross my legs so that I could subtly adjust myself.

"Well then, when the next warm spell comes, you and Ichiro must join me for a sailing outing. There's nothing like being out on the open sea."

Kiyomi's almond-shaped eyes twinkled at my invitation, and then blinked in afterthought before she said, "Thank you Damon-san for the invitation, but unfortunately Ichiro becomes deathly ill...how do you say it...ah, seasick. Once I took him on a ferry ride and he was violently ill for days."

She then sighed wistfully before continuing, "And, as much as I may want to, I do not even own a bathing suit. I am ashamed to say that I wouldn't even know how buy one or where to go."

I quickly quipped that I knew of several boutiques in the city to which I could refer her. I then jokingly offered that I'd be more than willing to accompany her and endure endless hours of her trying on various swim apparel until she found the right one.

Kiyomi giggled and then smile sweetly as she politely nodded at my blatant offer. "Oh, Damon-san, that would be most unseemly to have you, the distinguished head of the English department, waste so much time on me. Besides, I am sure that a man of your experience would be better able to select a fitting suit for me. Am I not right?" To this we nervously laughed and somehow switched topics, but not before the vision of a bikini-clad Kiyomi was indelibly burned into my mind.

The academic term trudged along and it became painfully apparent that Ichiro was floundering with his instructional responsibilities. Complaints from his students indicated that his classes were boring, unorganized, and not worth attending. His peer reviews were no less kind as they pointed out his inability to contribute to curriculum development and unwillingness to support other faculty or institutional endeavors. My superiors brought such academic concerns to my attention and after a brief discussion, the President tasked me to resolve the dilemma - one way or another - without the University or the senior leadership losing face.

The University's higher ups knew that as a Westerner, I could be direct - or 'blunt' might be a better word - without having to observe Japanese etiquette when it came to be delivering bad news. Also, because I was still viewed by many as an outsider, I could bear the unpleasant task of dismissing Ichiro and then endure the blame from his family for Ichiro's humiliation (and ultimately, theirs).

When I called Ichiro into my office, he knew that he already knew that he was in hot water, judging from his nervous stuttering and disheveled appearance. While I really felt badly for Ichiro, I didn't sugar-coat what needed to be said, and thought that he might breakdown and cry right in front of me. I did, however, say that I would give him until the ending of the academic term to see if things improved to my satisfaction. With that, I dismissed an obviously shaken Ichiro.

I was working late on the eve of a holiday weekend, and the University was virtually empty. I didn't hear the soft knock on my office door until it was repeated. Opening it, I was delighted to find Kiyomi who bowed respectfully to me.

"Damon-san, please excuse my intrusion," Kiyomi murmuring gently and contritely without lifting her eyes, "If I may speak to you?" I ushered her into my office, and after checking to make sure that no one was in the hallway, quickly closed and locked the door so that we wouldn't be disturbed.

"This is most difficult, Damon-san," Kiyomi whispered as we sat on the couch in my office, "but I need to talk to you about my husband, Ichiro. I understand that a few days ago you were required to speak to him...about his academic performance...and the need for him to improve.

"Since your discussion with him, Ichiro has been thoroughly depressed. He has lost his appetite, cannot sleep, is extremely absentminded, and is quite...irritable. I have tried to 'comfort' him - to ease him from his depression - but he found my spousal efforts to be a nuisance and rebuffed me." Kiyomi's soft voice cracked with choked emotion as she fought to hold back her tears.

I sat there stunned as I thought that Ichiro must have lost it to reject an amorous Kiyomi. My amazement was compounded when a sobbing Kiyomi stuttered, "Ichiro has left me...for the holiday...and perhaps forever. He told me before departing...that he needed to get away...from my 'distracting' presence."

When she saw the shock on my face, Kiyomi gasped and then murmured, "Forgive me, Damon-san. While I am at a loss as how to best explain, I feel I must share with you the immense pressure that confronts my husband - and that may affect his work. Please bear with me.

"As the eldest son of his family, Ichiro is expected to continue his branch of the family tree. I have sought to give Ichiro a child. But try as I may, I cannot conceive which has added familial pressure to my husband.

"In desperation, I sought the advice of Ichiro's elder sister. At first his sister chided me, saying that I was at fault for not making myself available to the physical needs of my husband. To my shame, I was forced to disclose our coupling habits to make it clear how I have willingly made myself available and how often I have often sought to entice my husband to lay with me. Still, he spurned me, saying that I was too demanding and obsessed with pillowing."

I now struggled to control of my facial muscles to maintain a calm and collected appearance. But all the time I couldn't help but think of much of a blithering idiot Ichiro was.

"It was only then that Ichiro's sister," Kiyomi sobbed to interrupt my thoughts, "shared that he might be that way because he was extremely sickly with a high fever when he was a young man and experienced severe swelling of his face area and 'male parts.' The doctor said that Ichiro might not be able to father children as a side effect. Ichiro, however, cannot accept this and prefers to blame me instead for our conjugal failures.

"Please excuse me, Damon-san," Kiyomi sputtered as she sought to collect herself, "I did not mean to burden you with my personal troubles. It was most unseemly of me, but I had to tell you that given such demands in Ichiro's life to perform...as a first son, as a husband, and as instructor...Ichiro has felt...'impotent.' He has retreated to a monastery where he seeks to meditate and pray as to his career...our marriage...and me.

"Damon-san, is there anything that I can do to help my husband's career?" Then after taking a deep breath and in so doing unknowingly projected her sizeable bosom, Kiyomi pleaded, "I would be willing to do whatever I can. No matter what; you just need to tell me. Please, I beg of you. Please?"

Three options immediately flashed through my mind. The first was where I honorably refuse to take advantage of an obviously distraught Kiyomi. However, sitting next to her, observing the fullness of her loose top and her shapely legs that were displayed from her modest skirt, my throbbing little head between my legs emphatically said, "hell no" to this option.

The second choice that flashed before me was to just jump Kiyomi and force myself upon her. However, if I misread the situation, my caveman behavior would definitely get me fired; if not imprisoned.

I decided on the third option; one in which Kiyomi would contribute inadvertently to her own seduction.

"Kiyomi-chan, you will forgive me for being so direct, but your husband's career rests in his hands," and then after a poignant pause, I continued, "and in mine. Ichiro is in his monastery, meditating on his life options, and I am here considering all things - for and against - retaining your husband.

"I must be perfectly honest, but at this point in time - you - are the only thing that Ichiro has going for him. Just how much of a positive influence you can have as to whether Ichiro is retained in some capacity at this University is up to you - and - what you are willing to do to ensure it happens."

Kiyomi sat back, shocked at my frank non-Japanese assessment of her husband's chances and more so at my thinly veiled "quid pro quo" innuendo. She was beginning to realize that I had accepted her offer but not in a way she had envisioned.

Before she could figure a way out of her dilemma, I jokingly said, "Come, come, let us not think of such dire possibilities. There is plenty of time, and I'm sure that you will eventually tilt the scales in Ichiro's favor. Then when the warm period comes, we'll be sailing on my sloop, enjoying the open ocean and the hot sun.