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Ani Chan 2 of 2
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Ani Chan Part 2
About an hour later, the older woman, Camilla, came in and led me to another
room. There, she instructed me in how to use cosmetics for the several next
hours.
It was the first time I had seen myself in a mirror as well. I was
fascinated to see how feminine I looked after the styling and work they had
done on me yesterday.
You might think learning to use cosmetics was easy after the humiliations I
had already endured. However, Camilla showed me how to use something then
made me repeat her actions. If my hand shook, and I got a line crooked or
something, she beat my shoulders with a slim bamboo rod she had. It stung
like hell.
When she was satisfied I had learned something, she took me back to my
'crib.' Someone had put a mirror and some cosmetics in the room while we
were gone. Camilla told me I would have to keep my face and hair presentable
all the time from now on.
I learned what she meant very soon. Another guy came in for a blow job,
which I did fairly proficiently. I was getting lots of practice. When he
left, I saw what it had done to my lipstick. Hastily, I repaired it before
my next visitor could come in.
The next week was an endless repeat of that first day. The only break I got
from being sexually abused was the classes I was given in cosmetics, hair
care, and hygiene. I was expected to apply those lessons immediately after
learning them, and punished severely if I messed up.
The second week, I was moved to a slightly larger 'crib' in a building
behind the main house. Here, I found I was not the only whore in training.
There must have been twenty girls in residence, and we were all used
regularly. We did not have to work under the men's dinner table for dinner
any more, except for special punishment, but dinners were not nearly so good
either. Mostly, we had to lie around and wait to get used.
One day, a couple of men brought a crying girl out to the courtyard between
our building and the main house. They chained the girl up to a big post in
the center, and all of us were called outside to witness what was to happen.
Augie announced the girl had tried to escape from the house she worked at.
This would not be tolerated, he continued. Saying that, he took a big whip,
and began flogging the poor girl. She fainted after about fifteen lashes,
but Augie had her revived, and started the count at one again. She got fifty
lashes, and her back was completely raw when he was done several hours
later. She was left chained to the post for the next three days, and whipped
every day.
The last day, we were all told she was to be addicted to heroine and sold to
the cheapest brothel he could find. If any of us wanted to join her, we
could just try to repeat her actions. We never saw the poor girl again.
By the end of the third week, I was beginning to get used to all the
fucking. Oral, anal, vaginal, it didn't matter any more. I just did it.
Then, I felt a horrible cramp inside me. I wondered if all this abuse had
torn something inside.
I screamed out, and other girls came to see what the problem was. I
explained my pain, though my screams. The girls merely giggled.
"Your first period, isn't it?" one of the girls asked.
"Don't worry, the first always hurts most," another advised.
Well, that killed off any remaining doubt, if there was any, about being a
girl.
At least for the next few days most of the men avoided using my pussy,
though my asshole and lips got extra work. When I stopped bleeding,
everything went back to the usual.
It was about a week after my period when Augie showed up at my crib, for the
first time since I had been moved from the main house.
"You're almost ready," he said nonchalantly. "It's time to test you out."
I wondered what he could possibly mean. I had been used every which way
possible for the past month or so.
Camilla showed up with the same kind of clothes I had word on my arrival.
The blouse was whole, but it could have been the same set. This time, I
noticed some writing in Spanish on the rear of the skirt. I wondered about
it, but knew better than ask.
"Get dressed," Augie ordered.
I quickly complied, not wishing to face any punishment.
Camilla removed my collar, but handcuffed my hands behind me. Then she took
my arm, and led me out of the compound.
We walked down a dirt road, through an obviously poor Mexican or South
American village, to a garish cantina. Once inside, I was uncuffed, and
installed on a barstool. I was told to sit there until told otherwise.
I did not sit long. A latino came in before long, and broke into a smile at
seeing a buxom blond sitting at the bar. He said a few words to the girl
behind the bar and placed some bills on the bar. She pointed to him, then
me, then a room at the rear of the building. Her last motion could not be
mistaken, a finger pushing in and out of the circled fingers of her other
hand.
The man grabbed my arm as I slid off the stool, and led me to the back room.
He had obviously been there before.
It was a quick 'wham-bam-thank you ma'am' screw, but he seemed satisfied,
leaving with a smile. I found a douche bag ready, and cleaned myself up
before returning to the bar.
Word must have gotten around the village quickly, for I spent most of the
afternoon and evening in that small back room. The longest I spent on the
stool after that first man was about ten minutes. I was sore and tired by
the time Camilla came to collect me at dawn. I did not understand the words,
but the tone of the calls that followed our walk back to the villa left no
doubt people knew all about my profession now.
I got to take a shower before I was brought into the main house that
morning. Augie was there, smiling, with some Oriental gentlemen. I judged
from his smiles I had passed whatever test the cantina provided. The
Orientals were a question mark.
"Let the gentlemen see you, cunt," Augie directed, never one to use a polite
word around me.
I felt their eyes devouring every curve of my body. Then they stepped
forward, probing all over me with their hands. At long last, they stepped
back, leaving me humiliated, and nodded to Augie.
"Well, well," Augie said, a big smile passing over his face. He turned his
attention to me then.
"We had planned to train you for a high class operation in the States, but
these gentlemen have made an offer for you. Since I think travel enhances
the working girl, I have accepted. You belong to them now."
Camilla pushed me to the two Orientals. From somewhere, she produced my
clothes, and I was ordered to dress.
We left the villa for the airport moments later.
The flight was interminable. It lasted forever and ever. I was locked to my
seat, as before, with the seatbelt. This time it was Oriental hands roaming
all over my body. Otherwise, the trip was very similar.
We landed at a small private airstrip on an island. That is all I could tell
from the window. At least I was not chained up when I was put in my new
room.
I spent a week on the island, getting screwed every way possible, and
learning how to bow and scrape before men. I later learned this was the
training school for high class yakuza prostitutes. High class or not, I was
ready to leave when the time came.
I was given a dress before we left. It covered much better than the clothing
I had worn earlier, but was cut very low around the bodice, and very high in
the legs. There was little doubt what kind of woman would wear a dress like
this. I assumed the Japanese script on the back was some kind of
advertisement.
We flew to Tokyo. At least I think it was Tokyo. It was a big city at any
rate. No one ever told me where we were. I was installed in a fair sized
room above a large, posh bar, and left alone for a while.
Around nightfall, an older Japanese woman came in with a dress for me. I put
it on at her gestured direction. It was as revealing as the earlier dress,
but frillier. The bodice was corset-like, and the mini- skirt very flounced
and short. A pair of six inch heels completed my wardrobe. As since the
beginning of my captivity, I have not even been offered any underwear.
Once dressed, I followed the mama-san to the kitchen area. There I joined
the other girls for dinner. It was rice and something I probably shouldn't
ask the ingredients of. It was not very good, but filling. I eyed the other
girls as I ate.
There were eight of them. All were dressed similarly to me. Six were
obviously Japanese, but the others were Americans or Europeans. I was the
only blond in the group. All of the other were very pretty, but none spoke.
After dinner, we went to the ladies room to repair our make-up, and I
followed the girls into the bar area. Obviously, this is what was expected,
as mama-san smiled when I passed by.
The bar was very dark, but there were neon lights in a garish display over
the bar itself. One corner contained several sofas, and was harshly lit. I
had a sinking feeling as I followed the others to this corner. With
gestures, mama-san explained I was to remain here until someone came for me.
I sighed, but resigned myself to this fish bowl.
We sat on the sofas for a while with nothing happening. Then, a kimono-clad
waitress would come to take one of the girls by the hand. The girl followed
immediately, trying to smile, even if some of the smiles were a bit
strained. I just sat, watching as girls went out into the darkness and
returned sometime later. Several hours later, one of the waitresses came and
took me by the hand.
I followed her into the darkness. You could not see anything with the lights
on us in our corner, and the first few steps into the darkness were blind as
well. It took a bit for my eyes to begin to pick up shadows.
I followed the waitress past a number of tables full of men to one in the
corner. There, the waitress bowed to one of the occupants, and placed my
hand in his. He looked at me expectantly.
I remembered my training, and bowed deeply to him. His face broke out into a
wide smile, and he drew me to his lap.
I sat on his lap for a long time as he chatted with the others at the table,
idly fondling my breasts and vagina all the while. I must have been blushing
very red at being handled this way. Then, one of the others had a girl
brought over, and two of us were being man- handled by these men. After a
while, the ones without girls left the table. Then, the remaining two men
got serious about their fondling.
I endured this for what seemed to be hours, but was probably only a few
minutes, when the man gave an unmistakable gesture I should stand. I stood,
and he took my arm, leading me upstairs to my room.
He had my dress unzipped before the door was even closed, and I was on the
bed by the time it hit the floor. He used me in every way possible over the
next few hours. He was all smiles when he gestured I should get cleaned up,
which I did quickly. He even helped me put on my dress, not without pinching
my nipples, before he led me back down to the bar. He bowed to me as he
left, and the waitress escorted me back to the lighted corner.
The others giggled as I returned to the sofa.
One of the Japanese girls, Miko, the girl who had joined us at the table
earlier, whispered to me, "Matusaska-san rike you!"
I did not know what to do. I just sat and blushed.
I only had one more encounter that night. The bar was open until dawn, and
we girls were available all during that time. It was very similar to the one
with Matusaska-san.
I was falling into a routine around the bar when mama-san had me dress up in
the dress I had worn when I arrived. She took me to join the other girls,
and we marched as a group to a beauty salon, getting lots of leers in the
busy streets of Tokyo. We had our hair done to mama-san's specifications and
were taken back to the bar. We were never allowed out of the bar except the
weekly trips to the beauty shop and the monthly ones to the doctor for our
VD check.
Except when my period was flowing, the first day was repeated over and over
for the next several months. When I had my period, I was dressed in the
first dress, and taken to the docks to give head to the workers down there.
Most days I went with four or five men, sometimes more, sometimes less. I
found I was popular with the customers, probably because of my blond hair. I
hated every moment of it.
About six months later, mama-san had me dress in my evening dress and
brought me down to the bar in the afternoon. I was presented to an older
Japanese man, who I was informed was the oyaban in charge of this bar. He
looked me over critically, both dressed and stripped. Then, he smiled.
"I hear good thing about you," he said.
I did not know what to say, so I just made my deepest bow to him.
"Vely good!" He was absolutely beaming at that show of respect. "I give you
reward. You come."
I managed to pull my dress up and follow him outside. We got into an
enormous Toyota. I did not know Toyota made a car so big!
The windows were all tinted, so I could not see where we were going. It
probably would have passed me by anyway, since the old oyaban kept fondling
me in the back seat, and a stretch of several miles would have passed while
I gave him a blow job.
At last, we arrived at our destination. We stepped out onto a dock where the
biggest ocean liner I have ever seen was docked. The oyaban let me directly
up the gangway, where we were met by a number of uniformed ships officers
and a few civilians in expensive suits.
A torrent of Japanese followed, none of which I could understand. I was
pointed to quite a number of times during this deluge though. I simply stood
and awaited whatever was to come next. When they finally decided whatever it
was, one of the officers took my hand and led me into a large salon.
"Take off cros," he ordered.
I complied, conscious of the dozen pair of eyes watching my every jiggle.
"Turn," he ordered, after they had an eyeful of one angle.
I was forced to make small turns, completely nude, until all those present
saw every angle of me. Hands came next, of course. I was thoroughly checked
over.
At last, each of the men in suits nodded assent, and the officer led me,
still nude out of the room. We went through the ship to a small beauty shop,
where I was reworked, and then to a small ships store. I was given my new
clothes.
The clothes were more an illusion than of much use for modesty. The nightie
is open at the front, tying with a single ribbon below my breasts, but not
hiding anything at all. The mini-skirt is so short it showed my crotch even
when standing, and there is no top to wear with it. I was told to put the
mini on. Two evening gowns are sheer, and lacking a bodice, but they did
have long slits from top to bottom. A pair of high heels and some cosmetics
finished off what I was issued. As usual, there was no underwear in
evidence.
Next, I was taken to be photographed. They shot me from every angle, and
were not overly modest about the poses. One print of me standing, totally
nude, was given to the officer as he led me down into the lower levels of
the ship. He put that picture in a holder on the door of a small stateroom,
and pushed me inside. I could hear the lock click as he left.
Stateroom is a pretentious word for the room I was in. It has a bed, a small
bathroom, with a bidet, and a vanity for my cosmetics. At least it is a
little bigger than my room back at the bar.
This was the point at which it dawned on me I had been sent from one brothel
to another. I wondered if this was supposed to be the 'treat' the oyaban
mentioned.
Yakumoto Maru was, in fact, a floating brothel of the highest caliber. The
girls were selected from the finest of the yakuza's shore based operations.
It was considered the highest honor a yakuza whore could be accorded to be
made part of the Yakumoto's company. I found this out much later, of course.
Hours later, a ship's officer opened my door and pointed at one of the
evening dresses. I put it on, and he bade me to follow him. We went to the
galley, where I was fed with the other girls. The fare was no better than
back at the bar.
All the other girls were dressed as I was. The colors of the dresses was
about the only difference. We were a medley of various races and
nationalities. A number of the girls were stunning Japanese, but there were
quite a few buxom blonds as well. There were only two black girls, and a few
brunettes and redheads. It appeared the Japanese like blonds or other
Japanese.
After dinner, we were herded up to the salon area. The ship has eight main
salons. We were divided into eight groups, and sent to different salons to
await the customers.
All the salons are laid out similar to the bar I had worked before, so at
least I was not completely lost. In any event, the first customers came
aboard soon after we arrived, and I was occupied throughout the evening with
one customer after another.
We were in port three more days, during which the routine never varied. We
were locked in our rooms all day, then brought out for dinner and to work
the customers. The salons were always full, and all of us girls had several
customers a night.
The fourth day, we sailed. The routine changed dramatically when we cleared
port. Our rooms were unlocked and we were allowed the run of the decks.
Mini-skirts were the order of the day. There were not so many customers
while we sailed, but they seemed horny all the time.
We would be accosted while walking on the deck, sunbathing, or whatever.
There were always officers around to assure we complied with the customers
whims, of course, so we were probably used as much while asea as we were in
port.
That first sailing was only three days, then we were locked in our
staterooms for the next port of call. The routine went back to port- side,
where we worked at night but were locked up all day. Thankfully, this port
call was short, only two days. Then we were asea again, with the freedom
that accorded.
We picked up more passengers at the second port, so we were kept busier than
the first sailing. Still, we were not locked in our rooms all the time.
This voyage lasted almost two weeks. It was glorious, or would have been had
we not been kept so busy. It was almost regrettable when shore appeared off
the side of the ship.
This time, however, we were not to be locked up. Instead, we were taken to
the ship's store and issued short, revealing dresses with the Yakumoto Maru
logo stitched on the back. We were taken ashore and put in buses. We rode
for almost an hour when the buses stopped at what appeared to be a large
apartment complex in the hills. We learned differently in short order.
We were led inside and given a tag with a number on it to pin to our
dresses, then were escorted to rooms corresponding to the number on the tag.
These were to be our rooms, and were the functional style rooms we were used
to. Then, we were brought downstairs to a large lobby area. Customers came
into the lobby at all hours of the day and night, took our tags to the desk,
paid the fees, and got the keys to our rooms. We worked at Bados for a week
before the buses came to take us back to the ship.
Our next stop was Sapporo, where it was ice festival time. It was bitterly
cold on deck, but we spent most of the time in our rooms or the salons, of
course. The crowds at night were bigger than any we had encountered so far,
probably due to the festival. We stayed in port for two weeks to supplement
the on-shore brothels.
About this time, one of the yakuza oyabans aboard took an interest in me. He
began to take me from the salons, or even open my room during the day to be
with me. I guess I should have been flattered, but I was getting so much sex
one more customer more or less did not matter that much. He kept it up for
the next several weeks, and then invited me to his stateroom one night.
His room was a real luxury suite, with all the luxuries in place. After he
used me on his bed, he kept fondling me, his eyes off in a distance. He
seemed to be thinking about something important. Then, he abruptly came back
to reality and returned me to my room.
The next day, an officer came and had me move my belongings into the
oyaban's suite. I have been installed there for the past six months.
Kendo-san is not really bad, as far as a lover goes, and I don't have to
work the crowds like the other girls. He even bought me some real dresses at
our last port call, even some frilly panties. He treats me like a lady in
every way, and it was he who gave me the pet name Ani-chan.
I should be grateful to Kendo-san, but deep down I really cannot. I still
remember I was born a man, you see.
Kendo-san saw my moodiness, and inquired about it last night. How can I
answer him truthfully? How could he believe I am a man when I am carrying
his baby?
-- Endo-san of the story-san
--
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