Chapter 2: The First Round Begins
The instruction to disrobe hung in the air, a tangible thing. Yumi’s hands went to the buttons of her blouse automatically, then froze. Her eyes, wide and liquid, found Ryu’s. In them he saw a silent plea, a last chance to call this off. He gave another small, desperate nod. It’s okay. For us.
Her fingers resumed their movement, trembling. The soft pop of each button was loud in the silent room. She slid the blouse off her shoulders, letting it puddle on the linoleum. The cool air raised goosebumps on her arms. She kept her eyes on Ryu’s as she reached behind her back, unclasped her bra, and let it fall away. Her breasts, full and heavy for her slender frame, were exposed. She crossed her arms over them instinctively.
“Arms at your sides, please,” Takeshi said, his voice devoid of warmth. He wasn’t looking at her with lust, but with appraisal, like a carpenter judging a piece of wood.
A shudder ran through her. Slowly, she uncrossed her arms, letting him look. Her nipples tightened, from cold or fear or both. Her hands went to the waistband of her skirt, fumbled with the zipper, pushed it and her underwear down her hips in one motion. She stepped out of the pool of fabric, naked except for her socks. She looked absurdly young and vulnerable.
“Socks too,” Takeshi said.
She peeled them off. Now she was completely bare on the slick floor. Ryu’s breath caught. He had seen her naked a thousand times, but never like this—under a harsh bulb, in a room that stank of other men, presented. The fantasy curdled at the edges, touched by a sharp, new reality.
“This way,” Takeshi said, gesturing to a heavy black curtain that divided the room.
He parted it, revealing a narrow space. On the other side was another curtain, this one of thinner red fabric. Through it, Yumi could see five vague silhouettes standing in a row. A slit was cut in the red curtain at face level.
“The first round is simple recognition through intimacy,” Takeshi announced, his voice taking on a performative edge. A small camera on a tripod whirred, a red light blinking. “You will approach the curtain. Each man will lean forward. You will kiss him, on the mouth, for no more than 30 seconds. You must determine which is your husband. After all five, you will state your choice.”
Yumi stood frozen, her arms held stiffly at her sides, trying to cover herself with her hands. The silhouettes were just shapes, but she could see the differences in height, in the width of shoulders. One was distinctly Ryu’s. The others… they were bigger. Taller. A cold trickle of understanding seeped in. The other four were not Japanese.
“You may begin,” Takeshi said.
Her feet carried her forward on their own. The first silhouette leaned to the slit. She rose on her toes. The mouth that met hers was full, the lips soft. The kiss was gentle, exploratory, a slow sweep of a tongue that tasted faintly of mint. It was… nice. Skilled. Nothing like Ryu’s eager, sometimes clumsy kisses. She broke away, flustered.
The second mouth was different. The kiss was assertive, hungry from the first touch. His tongue pushed into her mouth with a confidence that made her gasp softly against him. He nipped at her lower lip before pulling back. Her heart was hammering.
The third was slower, deeper, almost languid. He seemed in no hurry, mapping the inside of her mouth with a thorough, devastating patience that left her knees weak.
By the fourth, a raw heat had begun to pool low in her belly, a traitorous warmth she tried to ignore. This man’s kiss was slick, wet, accompanied by a low, appreciative hum from behind the curtain that vibrated against her lips.
Then the fifth silhouette. She knew his outline. She knew the way he held himself. He leaned in. Their lips met. It was Ryu. His kiss was familiar, sweet, a little nervous. He tasted of the green tea he’d drunk that morning. It was home. It was safety.
She stepped back from the curtain, her breath coming in short little puffs. Her lips felt swollen, used.
“Your choice, Mrs. Tanaka,” Takeshi prompted. “Which kiss belonged to your husband?”
She didn’t hesitate. “The fifth one. The last one.”
A beat of silence. Then, from behind the red curtain, Ryu’s voice, thick with emotion. “Yes.”
Takeshi’s smirk was audible. “Correct. A promising start. The bond of marriage holds. For now.” He made a note on a clipboard. “Prepare for round two.”
The red curtain was drawn back.
Yumi’s mind, still clinging to the logic of skin tone, prepared to see four black men and Ryu. The sight that greeted her drove the air from her lungs.
All five men were naked. Four of them were, as she’d surmised, black. They were giants compared to Ryu, muscles coiled under dark skin, expressions ranging from amused curiosity to predatory focus. But they were all wearing flesh-colored full-head masks, featureless and smooth, leaving them anonymous. Only their mouths had been exposed for the kiss.
Ryu stood among them, also masked, also naked. He looked slight, pale, and terribly out of place. His erection stood at attention, but it was modest beside the monstrous cocks that hung between the other men’s thighs.
Yumi’s gaze stumbled over them. They weren’t just bigger. They were foreign landscapes. Thick, heavy, long. One in particular, on a man with powerful, tree-trunk legs, seemed impossible, a brutal length of dark flesh that made her stomach clench with a mix of terror and a sick, unwelcome fascination.
“The oral round,” Takeshi announced, his voice cool and clear for the camera. “Same procedure. One minute per subject. Use your mouth to identify your spouse. The tactile differences should be… instructive.”
The man with the impossible cock, Eli, was first. He didn’t wait for her to kneel. He stepped forward, his hand wrapping in her long black hair, not painfully but with an absolute authority that brooked no resistance. He guided her down to her knees on the cold floor.
“Open up, little flower,” a voice, deep and melodic, came from behind the mask. It was Eli.
Her vision filled with him. He was so thick her fingers couldn’t have circled him. The head, broad and purplish, tapped against her lips. She opened her mouth, a small, reluctant ‘o’.
He pushed in.
It was an invasion. Her jaw ached instantly. He stretched her lips wide, filled her mouth, the tip hitting the back of her throat before she could even think to breathe through her nose. She gagged, tears springing to her eyes. The taste was clean, salty, overwhelmingly male. He didn’t thrust. He just held himself there, buried in her mouth, letting her struggle to accommodate him.
“Watch the jaw tension, very telling,” Takeshi commented to the camera. “First time with a real man’s size, it seems.”
Eli finally pulled back, sliding out with a slick pop. Yumi gasped for air, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his shining shaft.
The next man, Wes, was slightly less thick but just as long. He was gentler, in a way. He used his hands to tilt her head, stroking her hair. “Easy now,” his muffled voice soothed. But his cock was just as demanding. He taught her to use her tongue, swirling it along the frenulum, and when she did, he groaned. “Good girl.” The praise, in this context, burned.
By the time the third and fourth men, Ben and Kip, had their turns, a numb rhythm had set in. Her jaw was a constant throb. Her world had narrowed to the smell of skin and precum, the stretch of her lips, the guttural sounds from the men above her. She was messy, covered in spit, her own arousal a shocking, wet heat between her legs that she refused to acknowledge.
“Look at her, Takeshi,” Kip’s voice jeered from behind his mask. “Tiny little thing, swallowing like a champ. Never woulda guessed, huh? Bet she’s dreaming in black and white already.”
Then it was the fifth man. Ryu. She looked up at his masked face, at his familiar body, and she wanted to cry with relief. She took him into her mouth. He was familiar. He was manageable. He was hers. The six inches felt like nothing, a mere toy after the mountains she’d just tried to scale. She could take him deep with ease, could flick her tongue in ways she knew he loved. He whimpered, his hands coming to her head, tangling in her hair with a tender desperation.
The minute was up. Takeshi’s voice cut through. “Your choice, Mrs. Tanaka.”
She pulled off Ryu, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The answer was laughably obvious. After the ordeal, the sheer, simple familiarity was a beacon.
“The last one,” she said, her voice hoarse. “The fifth.”
Ryu’s masked head bowed. “Yes.”
“Correct again,” Takeshi said. He didn’t sound disappointed. He sounded pleased, like a scientist watching an experiment proceed exactly as forecast. “Two for two. The difficulty curve escalates now. A brief recess. Then, the touch round.”
He motioned for Yumi to stand. Her legs were weak. As she rose, her eyes drifted past Ryu to Eli, who was idly stroking his huge, still-glistening cock. He saw her looking. The faceless mask seemed to grin.
“Getting used to the view, sweetheart?” Eli’s voice rumbled. “Just wait.”