Ritual of Honor [MultiFormat]
Click on image to enlarge.
eBook by habu
eBook Category: Erotica/Menage Erotica/Gay Fiction
eBook Description: Asking life for little more than the opportunity to play the piano and tennis, family pressure finds a young American man enlisted in the Air Force and assigned to Okinawa. There his extraordinary natural sexual attraction leads him into the hands of a manipulative pimp and the beds of bored generals and their wives, to be shared separately and together. Disillusioned, he leaves the service to be taken in by a cougar Okinawa art gallery owner. She uses him to cajole and satisfy well-heeled clients both in Okinawa and Tokyo, which drives him to playing the piano and servicing customers in a Naha piano bar for the man who seduced him into prostitution in the first place. Enter the mysterious, powerful, and wealthy Japanese art patron, General Takehiko, who wishes to both liberate the young man and use him for his own ritualistic purposes.
eBook Publisher: Excessica Publishing
Fictionwise Release Date: May 2011
1 Reader Ratings:
The club lights were dim, but I'd left on the spot over the piano so that I could check scores. I'd been playing for some time and was gliding through "Deep Purple"--"When the deep purple falls over sleepy garden walls . . ."--before I realized that Steve was standing in the shadows next to the beaded-curtained doorway, listening to me play. He was wearing a robe and the bareness of his calves below warned me that this was all he was wearing. He was smoking a cigarette while holding a liquor glass in his other hand--and staring at me with those bedroom eyes of his.
I tried to bury myself, my eyes, my entire focused attention in the piano keys in front me. I was playing away furiously, now not even aware of whatever tune I changed to--especially since "Deep Purple" had been a special fuck song for the two of us--willing Steve to go away. But not wanting him to. Remembering, as I played, how expertly and totally Steve took me. How much I melted at the smell and taste of him and the churning of his cock deep inside me. I had not had sex for weeks. I had come to want it and expect it nearly daily.
I was ripe for Steve. And somehow he knew it. Having started into "Deep Purple" in the first place probably was my unconscious saying I wanted it. Steve always seemed to know me better than I knew myself.
I heard the robe hit the stage floor behind me and saw naked, well-muscled arms reaching around me from both sides. The cigarette, still burning, was placed, ash end hanging precariously over the side of the piano on the ledge next to the keyboard on one side, and the glass, still half full of ice and an amber liquid, was being set down above the keyboard on the other side. And then, hard, muscled thighs were swinging over the piano bench on either side of me and Steve was sitting precariously at the back of the bench with me huddled between his thighs, my hands still furiously running across the keyboard. My mind, however, was in a hundred places at once: trying to identify the tune I was playing, trying to remember if I'd eaten supper, concerned that the cigarette would burn down to the wood of the precious piano lacquering; equally concerned that the condensation from the liquor glass would leave a ring on the piano; wondering if I'd brought that score of Gershwin tunes with me, feeling Steve's hard cock running up the small of my back, trying to remember whether I had picked up my other tux from the drycleaners that morning, wanting Steve to leave me alone, wondering how I could get through the night if he did leave me alone, feeling Steve's hard cock, smelling the essence of Steve, remembering how much I loved the smell of Steve, feeling Steve's hard cock.