Namio (Ganki Monthly): Episode 1
“Is everything all right this evening, Ms. Kishi?”asked the waiter as he handed me a cup of tea. “Is there anything else you would like?”
The questions irritated me at once. He should not have asked them.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I love being served, pampered and appeased, and in one sense, the man was just doing his job. But he should not have used my name. It made it clear that he knew exactly who I was, and was sucking up to me to make sure I gave the place a good review. I noticed that he had not gone up to ask any of the other recent arrivals if they were enjoying themselves, only me. That was very unprofessional.
And it was a stupid time to ask the question, anyway. I’d hardly sat down, the fellow underneath me had only been at it for five minutes, and I still had another twenty five to run before I’d even think about whether I was satisfied. If he’d really wanted to ask me whether I was satisfied he should have come back closer to the end of proceedings.
“Does your manager know that you are coming to speak to me, boy?” I asked. (He was probably about thirty-five, my own age.) I gave a non-committal half-smile.
He was instantly confused, and obviously so. ‘Um…sorry, Kishi san. She doesn’t know. I just thought…”
“You know she is a good friend of mine, don’t you?” I interrupted. (This was not true, strictly speaking. In fact hated Ms. Endo, the owner of Endo’s Ganki House. I had once overheard her calling me fat.)
“I…would you…I…” He was beginning to sweat.
“I would like you to apologise for interrupting me while I am being pleasured. And then bring me some whiskey. On the house. Or, you could call Ms. Endo and I will speak with her about your performance this evening.”
He apologized profusely, bowed, and ran off to get the whiskey, a Hibiki, which I suspect would have come out of his wages. I came rather early, as I speculated on how much of his meagre pay-packet would have gone on that single drink. Then I left, after only half an hour.
I should say right from the outset that I am not normally that much of a bitch to the service staff. While my job involved a delightful level of sadism towards the Ganki bottoms, which turns me on no end, I am not normally in the habit of humiliating other men in my daily life, unless they really ask for it. But I’d been in a bad mood over the last few weeks, and I didn’t know why. The waiter fellow was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I decided to give Ms Endo’s a 3.5 in my column on establishment favorites, noting that standards had slipped since my last visit a year ago. I knew there would be many outraged people when the next issue of Ganki Monthly came out in a few weeks time.
The following night, I had to do a review of two new outdoors places, those tacky ones with the prices on the walls, where you get men on the street staring at you while the bottoms get the job done. (Some women like that – I’m not one of them.) There’s a whole slew of these places that have opened up now since Joken went mainstream and about a quarter of the men in Tokyo came out and admitted what they really wanted. Luckilly, I’d gotten into this line of work years before before the trend turned into a craze, so I am now considered a venerable authority on all things Joken, rather than one of the thousands of newer ‘experts’ clamoring for attention in the marketplace! More about all that later…
Anyway, I got to the first place at about seven, and they only had one bottom available, but at least he was young, and pretty fit looking. On the plus side, they had the stools rigged up so the bottom, who was chained in place, had to strain himself to reach my ass and pussy and I could hear the little slut almost crying with the effort of getting his mouth up high enough to bring me off, all of which made for a very sweet orgasm indeed. This wasn’t a special extra – it was just part of the regular deal. The prices were pretty good too. But again, I only felt like half an hour, and I decided I’d only give the place a 2 in the ‘outdoor’ category, despite the fact that nothing was really wrong with it at all.
The second place was even worse. There were more subs available, but the prices were much higher, and most of the men were old – my one was even going bald! On the plus side, they did let you sit directly on his face – hence the extra cost. I’ve always enjoyed talking to subs when I know they can’t respond – I can see exactly why dentists do it to patients. “So, what’s your name?” Mmmpgh. “And what do you do for a living, sweetheart?” Mgggphph. “I see. That sounds very interesting.” I came quite hard, but decided that this place was only a 1.5. I mean, 3000 yen, for that? Plus the tea was bad.
On Friday night I only had one job and that was to visit Madame Yen’s – a Chinese smothering place that started up well before ganki took off, but is still considered part of the movement. I like it here – it’s discrete, and it’s not about the sex, just the power. They sure do know their clientele – busy working women who just want to chill out on the weekend and relieve the stresses of their day. Drinks and snacks are included in the package, and there’s no time limit. I sat there for over an hour, happily zoning out, until I was approached by one of the bar staff.
‘Excuse me, ma’am, he said. ‘I think that man is unconscious.’
I looked down idly at my sub, and realised the barman was probably right. The little old guy had hardly moved in the last twenty minutes, but I had barely noticed.
‘Is that a problem?’ I asked.
‘Um…sorry, ma’am. But, technically, we are not supposed to let you sit on the bottoms while they are unconscious. There is a risk they might die.’
‘Do you know who I am?’ I said crossly.
‘It was clear that he did, but didn’t like to admit it directly. ‘The rules are the rules, ma’am. I am going to have to ask you to get off that man. We can provide you with another.’
No, don’t bother, I said, and swept out, leaving the Ganki Monthly tab card on the bar to pay for my evening. This place was getting 1 out of 5! In fact, let’s make it half a star! Serve them right of their stupid subs pass out. Why should that be my problem?
In a different mood, I‘d have given the place an extra half star for the man’s professionalism. What the hell was wrong with me lately?
I needed some serious cheering up, so I went home, got changed into a favorite corset, and then went to the Golden Ray, where I drank tea til I pissed myself all over some lovely little bimbo they found specifically for the purpose. They said they’d reduce his fee for every drop he spilled! I was torn! Should I wriggle my ass around as I urinated, making it harder for him to earn his keep? Or should I am directly at him? What a predicament.
Man, I love that place. I wish they’d let me review it every week. Seems like I spend my life in the dumps, and have to spend my own money going to the decent places! It hardly seems fair.
The weekend stretched on in front of me. Parties to attend, but not with friends. Ms. Esumi was out of town, Ms. Fujima had moved to Osaka with her lovely husband, and Ms. Yahiro – let’s just say we haven’t exactly seen a lot of each other since she found out what I do for a living. And I wasn’t exactly popular with my workmates either. Having the best job in the industry will do that for you.
On Sunday night, as I was brushing my hair and getting ready for the week to come, a simple word rang through my mind, one that had never had a chance to enter it before.
I was lonely.