The Holy Order Of The Asian Pussy Pounders
Sexploits of Japan
by Q-pounder, created Wednesday, October 11, 2006, with permalink

Crying blowjob

Long before Q-pounder settled into commitment with high grade Hong Kong cream puff, Japanese was vogue. Hiroko, a nineteen year old nurse, was preparing for a career of changing diapers and bathing horny old men. Based in Yokohama, she commuted daily to Tokyo for class.

I met her in a swank coffee shop near Harajuku. The same day Morning Mesume, a forgettable J-pop band staring a bunch of preschool girls, drew fans from around the city. I dragged Hiroko from the coffee shop out through the throngs of fanboys. Her tall frame, chunky chest and perpetually confused face agreed with me, and sailed behind as I hacked through sweaty summer bodies with my elbows the way Crocodile Dundee does it with a machete. I made my move at the train station. A playful peck on the cheek before darting onto the subway and taking leave of her. She was hooked.

She wakes me with a volunteered blowjob. I look down. She's never gone through with it before. She'll go through with it today.

The next day, well jacked-off and ready to claim my pussy prize, I waited in Shibuya, swapping instant messages asking where the fuck she was. We were supposed to meet at three. Like a whipped bastard, I stuck around until five, trying to ignore the scandalously-dressed teens lapping melty ice cream cones on a nearby bench. I eventually found out, thanks to her shitty English she'd insisted on using over my Japanese, that she'd never intended to meet up that day. She thought we were talking about two days from then. Furious, I stepped into the street, macked on random girls, then ran home to get drunk and eat grilled meat with old guys hanging around the train station.

Misunderstanding or not, she'd wasted the bulk of my afternoon and lots of train fare. She'd blown it off with a light apology. I wanted revenge. Two days later, when we met at an equidistant train station, I did what any angry man would do. I took her home. I fucked the shit out of her. I used the most vulgar, demeaning Japanese I knew, and it was pretty rough considering I learned it from former Kansai gangsters. Hiroko loved it. She was shocked at my every command. You wouldn't have guessed from her nervous reactions, her flinching eyes, but she was loving every word of my demeaning commands. Take off your top. Suck my balls. She did whatever I said. And she always came back.

Flash forward two weeks. I'm thin like a heroine addict from too little expensive Japanese food. Hiroko's been living with me in my cramped hotel room. I've been sleeping all day. She wakes me with a volunteered blowjob. I look down. She's never gone through with it before. She'll go through with it today.

Hiroko isn't happy. Five minutes have passed and I have yet to fill her mouth with cream of corn. She looks up at me with, "can't we just fuck" eyes. I palm the back of her head and drive deeper.

I look up at the clock. Ten minutes have passed. She's gagging and nodding off, tired from all her bobbing. She wants to stop. "Continue!" I bark in the rude command form.

After fifteen minutes, I'm still nowhere close. Her teeth keep grazing my shaft. Her rhythm is erratic. This is going nowhere.

Twenty minutes. I look into her eyes. She's crying with exertion. She's never given a blowjob like this before. Maybe never more than 30 seconds, just to wet the tip and get it sliding in without snags. She'll make it, I think to myself.

Twenty five minutes. I'm still not close. She sniffles and looks up at me with her defeated eyes. I jack myself off for a minute then jam it back into her mouth and blow my wad. She swallows.

She never gave me a "full" blowjob again after that. I never asked her. She was dumb, and she didn't know how to say no. She didn't have much self respect. So she liked me. And me, the kind of guy I was back then? Yeah, I liked her too.

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