With a faint humming sound, a three-foot square lit up the gray walls. At first the image appeared as a tangle of human shadows. The auto-focus kicked in and it pulled into sharper view, revealing the true vulgarity of the torrid scene of sexual congress—
A shapely woman on her hands and knees, two men going at her from the back and the front, tanned torsos affixed to her mouth and crotch, thrusting back and forth as if to wring all the pleasure out of her.
Perhaps one of the men’s personal fetishes, the woman was wearing nothing but a T-shirt. The T-shirt was rolled up. A man’s hairy arms reached from her waist to grab her breasts, rolling her erect nipples between his thumb and forefinger.
Reflecting the flood of sensations, her hips began to move as well. The camera looked down at her hips from the left. The glistening and translucent layer of flesh covering the taut, throbbing muscles was pockmarked with red hickeys and teeth marks, suggesting he’d gone after her with his mouth before penetrating her.
The man drove into her relentlessly. Her ass took on a life of its own, greedily drawing him in deeper. The sound of ass slapping against thighs, the sound of a damp, engorged rod driving into and out of the sultry bog.
The woman’s muffled voice grew louder. Penetrated in her mouth as well, her labored gasps were reduced to stifled moans, slurping on him like a melting lollipop.
The men’s faces were out of view.
The fiercely turgid state of their flesh and bone wasn’t created by drugs, but according to the rigorous training of their natural endowments. The power wound tightly within was said to equal that of any heavyweight wrestler. Their perspiring pectorals and deltoids, thigh and gluteus maximus muscles were the tools given men to subjugate women.
Whether it was the cameraman or whether it was remote control, the image slowly swiveled and closed in on the woman’s face.
Setsura scratched his head. He could have guessed the rest.
Her mouth opened wide to take in his whole width and length, her cheeks drawing in and out in a trance, a sloppy wet slurping sound as he pumped himself into her. Her face was flushed, her body pink with arousal, surrendering all her inhibitions to the onslaught of cruel pleasures.
“Put your teeth into it,” came the scornful voice of the man above her. She complied, baring her pretty white teeth against the tip of his shaft.
The man shoved himself against her. She attacked him with her teeth and slathered him with her tongue, that lovely face waiting to be defiled while she lost herself in the rhapsodic heights of the defilement.
The man picked up the pace and approached the summit. The woman’s voice moaned under the lash of such vulgar torture. She shook her face and shook her ass. Sweat flew.
The man groaned and seized her face and buried himself inside her. Her hips trembled and shuddered. The come filled her mouth. She choked, her throat throbbed, the raw sound of swallowing.
The man pushed her face back, the sucking pop followed by the white thread of come strung between his moist shaft and her lips. Her countenance contorted with pleasure and pain, the foul fluids slathered across her mouth painting a look of extraordinary erotic lewdness.
The hairy hand pulled her closer again. She reached out with her tongue to lick off what remained. Instead he wiped himself off on her cheeks and brows. She rubbed her face against his brush until her skin glistened with sweat and come.
She arched her back and threw back her head, her body shivering with sadomasochistic satisfaction wrenched unwillingly out of her. Setsura didn’t need to see her face. This was the girl who should have left Shinjuku by now, his secretary, Mina Chiaki.