Akemashite Omedetō Gozaimasu
I guess I had to expect it; it was to be New Year’s Eve after all and you had to have a party. I told David I did not want to know who was coming or what the plans were other than the fact that I would receive the New Year hanging from my breasts.
Of course that wasn’t true at all. I did very much want to know who was coming and what the plans were since they probably involved me. It may seem strange but, once I told David of my plans, and he told Burt, I began to have second and third thoughts about the whole thing. It was not the party. I hoped no one I knew was there, it would be too embarrassing but I had enough to worry about to be concerned about minor things like modesty. Of course, once Burt was in on it and they began to organize the party I could no longer back out of it. It would make David lose too much face.
True to form, David said nothing about the party plans. My first hint was at lunchtime, at the North Star Mall, when David insisted I have a hearty lunch.
“You won’t get to have dinner, so eat well now.”
Now that sounded kind of ominous, but I knew I’d better follow his advice.
We arrived at Burt’s at seven. I thought it was rather early for a New Year’s Eve party but nobody was asking me. Except for Burt there was no one else there. The men wore comfortable clothes; I wore a purple dress and heels. It did not last long on me.
“Go to the guest room and strip,” David ordered as soon as we arrived.
I guessed the evening was starting early for me. I did as ordered, hanging the clothes in the closet, and returned to the living room; I kept my heels on.
An oriental man, wearing a black and white bandana on his head was setting up his tools in the kitchen. When I entered he looked at me showing no surprise in his eyes. He was expecting me; there was no one else in the room.
“I am Chef Ito. Hurry up, come here and help me,” The man had only the faintest oriental accent.
He wrapped a bandanna around my hair and gave me a short white kimono to wear. He had a large cutting board in front of him and several shallow aluminum pans set up on the counter. He gave me a plastic jug.
“Fill the aluminum pans with crushed ice. Hurry.”
I began filling the jug with crushed ice from the freezer and spreading it on the pans. While I did so, he pulled out several sides of fish and began cutting them into small portions with a Suntoku knife. It seemed like there was sushi for dinner menu.
As soon as I was done, he told me to lay the pieces of fish on the ice, while he placed a large wood tub on the kitchen counter; it was full of steamed rice. I had barely finished with the fish when he ordered me to make little plates of seaweed salad, and after that, I put a pot of miso soup on the stove to heat. I wondered what the boys were doing.
He ordered me to set the table for seven people. The table was rectangular and I was not to use a tablecloth. The only utensils were red lacquered chopsticks, tiny little bowls for the soy sauce, a larger bowl for rice set on the left side, a little porcelain rectangle on the rice, where the chopsticks rested, and a square lacquered bamboo box, for sake.
He gave me no quarter. As soon as one task was finished he had another for me. Slice oranges, little rice Nigiri rolls to put the fish on, and so on. After everything was ready, he ordered me to empty five bags of ice from the freezer outside into the bathtub and fill the bath with water. I wondered what that was about.
Shortly before eight, David and Burt came up from the den. Chef Ito bowed to them and, after he elbowed me in the ribs, so did I.
“We are ready,” he said.
I served the three men sake.
“Sensei,” Burt said, “You may use her, if you want, before the party starts. You will be too busy later.”
My eyes snapped open.
Chef Ito bowed low, “Domo arigato gozaimasu,” his voice was hoarse already.
He turned to me, “Kneel.”
I needed no further instructions. I unzipped his fly and took his hardening cock in my mouth. It rapidly grew erect to its full five inches. His pubic hair was surprisingly long, and straight rather than curly. He smelled very clean. As soon as he was hard, I began to bob on his dick. I easily took all his length in my mouth, and twirled my tongue around the thin dark shaft. I could sense his growing excitement, and felt a little stab of arousal myself; not a whole lot, just a twinge, a faint response to the desire I sensed between my lips. He took hold of my head now and began to fuck my head. Faster and faster he thrust until he grunted and spurted his come in my mouth. It was a bit saltier than David’s. ‘Must be all the miso in his diet,’ I thought.
It had taken less than four minutes.
It was eight o’clock.
“Go bathe,” Chef Ito ordered, “use cold water only; do not wet your hair. Hurry!”
Now I knew. I took off my kimono and noticed that, after all the running about, getting dinner ready, and the chef’s rocks off, I was a bit sweaty; that twinge of arousal released a bit of musk too. Before I got into the freezing water, the door to the bathroom opened and the Chef entered.
“Shower first,” he ordered.
I got into the shower stall and showered with cold water; that was less than comfortable, this being December and all. There was no gel for me to use, only a plain, unperfumed, white soap bar. I used it. As soon as I was rinsed Chef Ito ordered me into the bath. I wrapped my hair in a towel to keep it dry and gingerly stepped into the freezing water. He made sure I got in, all the way to my neck. I began to shiver immediately.
“Stay there!” he ordered and left, leaving the door open.
My shivers turned into violent shakes, I had never been so cold in my life. Through the open door, I heard the guests begin to arrive. I heard the pop of champagne bottles and the clicking of glasses. Spirited conversation wafted into the bathroom although I could not understand the words. I pushed my toes out of the ice water. They were blue.
Chef Ito returned and closed the door.
“Come out!” He ordered.
I was shaking so violently I could barely hold a towel. It wasn’t necessary. He dried me thoroughly with two large terrycloth towels and, once he was satisfied, he gave me a new kimono to wear. It was white, with two large black fish swimming across its length. The fabric was very soft. He gave me two bamboo sandals to wear. I removed the towel from my hair letting it fall free.
“Take small steps,” he said.
Still trembling, with small, measured steps, I followed Chef Ito. There were four men and a young woman, in addition to Burt and David, standing in the living room. They all held champagne glasses and seemed, up to now, very gay, although the conversation quieted down when I made my entry. I did not know any of them.
I followed the Chef to the dining room table where he turned me around, facing the crowd. We bowed to them.
“Let the kimono slide off your shoulders to the floor,” he whispered to me.
For once I was happy to blush; it warmed my face.
I stood nude in front of all this people. I could see they liked what they saw. I wondered how much they knew about what was going to happen afterwards. More than I did, I gathered.
Chef Ito helped me on to the table, where I lay flat, my arms and legs slightly open. Although still freezing, I was no longer shivering.
“Do not move.” He ordered in a low voice.
He began to work at a feverish pace. He took four thin cloth bags and placed one under each of my armpits and one on each side of my neck. I shivered when they touched my cold skin. They were full of ice.
“They will help keep you cool,” he said
He placed two smaller ones on my groins and behind my knees. I almost did not feel the two ice bas he placed under my knees, so cold was my skin.
Then, he began to arrange the different sushi creations directly on my skin. Salmon, Hamachi, Toro, Unagi, all the sashimi he arranged neatly in whorls of seafood around my breasts and on my chest and abdomen. The Nigiri sushi pieces he placed on my thighs and the salmon roe, in a basket of bib lettuce he placed over my pussy. He covered one of my nipples with pickled ginger sliced paper thin. He furiously grated a wasabi root and placed a pyramid of the pungent root on my other nipple. Both the ginger and the wasabi stung my nipple a little. I was grateful for any heat I could get.
He took a picture of his creation.
“I’ll give you a copy,” he said.
“Sit down, kudasai.” He gestured at the table bowing.
As soon as the guests sat down, he brought two large bottles of sake, letting the guests help themselves, and served them a bowl of miso soup apiece. I could smell the fragrant broth, but with my face looking up, I could see very little, aside from the lamp above the table, and the ceiling where a small spider made its way across. I prayed it did not fall on me.
The guests stood up and gave Chef Ito a standing ovation. He bowed twice, said:
“Happy New Year” and left.
I was still freezing from the bath and the ice bags strategically placed at my pulse points were not helping.
Conversation started again, as the sake began to flow. They talked about their studies, their work. They talked about the Olympics next year and about whom would the Republicans run in November’s presidential election. They ignored me completely.
Of course, you do not talk about your host’s china when you are invited to dinner. And that is what I was right now. A very cold serving plate.
To feel the chopsticks picking the pieces of fish off my naked body was, disconcerting. When anyone picked some of the roe from the cup of leaves between my thighs, they could not help but move the leaves a bit and, since they were resting against my most sensitive area, despite the cold, I felt tiny twinges inside me; something similar happened when they picked the pickled ginger or the wasabi from atop my nipples. I was so cold though that they failed to ignite. That was probably a good thing; I don’t think that a river of musky pussy juice would be very appetizing.
At times, one of the guests would let the tip of his chopstick drag, briefly, on my skin; especially if he was picking up wasabi or ginger.
A chopstick accidentally slid under the bib lettuce and was promptly removed.
The worst thing was being unable to move.