Bart is in Japan when he finds himself in a locker room, where he runs into the legendary rikishi (sumo wrestler) Miku Fukumi. Since Bart has always loved big-ass men, Miku is his ideal target, resulting in another incredible adventure of big manhood, big lust and big satisfaction!
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Bart was trying to find Nashimoro Hazumatsu, but he had disappeared in the maze of identical corridors that ran behind the auditorium. Bart knew he was around there somewhere. He didn’t want to come back to America without a contract from Nashimoro, even if he had opposed hiring him in the first place.
The halls were spartan and cold. Bart heard crowds, but he didn’t know where they were. There were signs marking the doors and stairwells, signs in both English and Japanese, but somehow none of them were helpful. The stairwells were literally marked stairs — it wasn’t even possible to be sure they were different staircases, he could have been walking in circles, he wouldn’t know. The other rooms were marked with things like Entrance, Room A and Empty Room. What was the point of labeling something Empty Room, especially when it appeared to be full of cleaning supplies? He stumbled across a door labeled Room 7, and he cursed at this entire country — why would you both number rooms and give them letters? How did Room A and Room 7 relate?
It was infuriating.
Bart didn’t even want to be here. This was not a part of the job that he ever wanted to do. But Debbie Namikki was on maternity leave, and Bart had no choice but to take the trip to Japan in her place.
All this to hire Nashimoro Hazumatsu, a fashion designer who was well-known in Japan for his outrageous designs, his shockingly green hair and his old-fashioned erotic woodcuts.
It was annoying, and it wasn’t even Bart’s plan — a company Bart worked for was supposed to hire Mr. Hazumatsu to design some clothes — Bart did fashion photography for a chain of clothing stores aimed at plus-sized women. He advocated against it at the board meeting. Mr. Hazumatsu was expensive and eccentric and claimed to be a reincarnated dragon and was just generally not someone Bart wanted hanging around the office. But it wasn’t entirely his-
This was a locker room.
Bart shivered as excitement flooded him. He was in a locker room. That wasn’t where he was going or where he thought he’d be, but here he was. Bart had always found locker rooms slightly erotic, or sometimes very erotic, so he spent a moment taking in the empty space redolent of the hustle and bustle of prior activity. It had the soul of industry.
He had gone through a door thinking it was the door he had just come through, and it would lead him back to what he thought was a service hallway, but in fact, it led into a locker room.
Japanese lockers were short and wide, dark blue, with cisterns and wash-basins along every wall — instead of all of them being clustered near the toilets like in an American locker room. It smelled of male bodies and used clothing here.
Bart felt a flood of desire. He hadn’t gotten his rocks off since coming to Japan. Now he couldn’t think about anything else. He wanted to find a man to mess around with here, but he hadn’t yet seen anyone in Japan who lived up to Bart’s expectations.
As an appreciator of the male form, Bart had his preferred physique: thick, rotund, pudgy, fat or even outright obese. He loved them all. Most of the Japanese men he’d seen since coming to this country, however, were skinny. He’d seen a few hefty men, but none who really tickled Bart’s desire.
The search for Mr. Hazumatsu dwindled to the back of Bart’s mind. It seemed unimportant. He was in a locker room, that was the best possible location for finding studly men — many of whom might be thick enough to appeal to Bart.
But no one was here. It smelled like man-sweat, he thought, but no men were here right now.
Then the door opened, and a rikishi walked in — a rikishi is a sumo wrestler — wearing his traditional loincloth and nothing else. That’s what was going on in the building’s auditorium. The people Bart had heard were the wrestlers and trainers, and a small audience. This wasn’t a real tournament, but there was an audience out there, it was sort of the Japanese equivalent of a scrimmage.
The only rikishi to finish his match and come in the locker room right now, however, was Miku Fukumi. Miku had won — the loser of his match stayed out there with his coaches and trainers — and come straight in here. It was improper to gloat, so Miku had done little more than bow and keep a straight face on as he won.
But now that he was alone, he could do a little dance, his hefty body shaking, thickness jiggling, a few beads of sweat dripping onto the locker room floor. A broad smile spread across his face.
He didn’t see Bart, who wasn’t hidden but who was still concealed by a bank of lockers. Bart’s dick instantly stiffened up. Miku wore nothing but the traditional mawashi, the loincloth-like clothing that rikishi wore. Miku wore a white mawashi made of cotton, which was traditional for his rank — sekitori — during training. In a competition, he’d wear a mawashi made of colored silk, but this was only training, so he wore the white cotton mawashi.
He pumped his arms and flexed his bicep like a champion. Then his ears pricked up because he heard Bart.
Not wanting to seem like he was hiding or spying, Bart stepped out from behind the bank of lockers. He had a clipboard in his hand — it had information on the job offer for Mr. Hazumatsu — which Miku interpreted to mean Bart was some sort of inspector. Bart was obviously white, so Miku assumed he was part of some sort of international standards body. Miku’s sumo-league was trying to join the International Sumo Association, so that made sense enough for Miku.
He nodded, shame-faced at having been seen acting prideful. But Bart wasn’t Japanese, so he didn’t worry about it too much — if his trainer had seen it, Miku would have been humiliated. Americans appreciate pride and bravado, even arrogance.
“Hello,” Miku said, his English good but thickly-accented. He’d learned English in school but rarely used it except to follow the dialogue in popular movies and television shows, so he understood it much better than he spoke it.
“Hi,” Bart said. “I’m Bart.” He was taken aback and flustered by Miku’s commanding presence. He was tall and broad-shouldered and thickly built in all the right ways. He had quite dark skin for a Japanese man but was still lighter-skinned than Bart.
Beneath all that padding was a tremendous amount of muscle. Bart could sense it even without touching him. His heart pounded. He could feel the body heat emanating off Miku even from a few yards away, and the folds of his flesh glistened with sweat. Bart was too nervous to speak, he was like a schoolboy talking to his first crush.
“Are you inspectationing this property?” His accent was hard to grasp, especially since Bart was distracted, and he made the word property almost entirely unintelligible (it sounded like bobbity). Bart had to ponder for a few moments to decipher it. Then he still didn’t entirely understand the question.
“I was, uh, looking for Mr. Hazumatsu,” Bart said softly.
“He is watching, in the audience,” Miku said, an annoyed look flickering across his face. He did not like the flamboyant behavior and eccentricity of Mr. Hazumatsu. Men shouldn’t behave that way, he thought, and for men in his own field, sumo, it was entirely unacceptable. But his patronage did help keep the league going, so Miku didn’t complain.
“Oh. Oh, I see…” Bart said. He wanted to suck Miku’s topknot and couldn’t think of anything else. It was adorable, long and slick with the binzuke (wax scented with chamomile) that rikishi used as a hair pomade. It made his hair glisten and stay in the tight topknot, called chonmage, which extended far, and would have gone past his shoulders if he didn’t have the topknot. Bart cleared his throat. “Did you just wrestle?”
Miku nodded. He mumbled, “I must be prepare. I am planning on to meet my girlfriend in the outside, in certain time happening soon.”
“Okay, cool,” Bart said. “I’ll just…” He wasn’t sure what to do — he didn’t want to interrupt Mr. Hazumatsu as he watched a sumo match, that would probably make him less likely to agree to come to America. So Bart would have to wait.
Before Bart could think of anything else, Miku opened up his locker and withdrew his civilian clothes. They were all neatly folded and stacked, and he unstacked them one by one. Then he grabbed a cell phone and glanced at it. He frowned. He pressed a few buttons. Then anger flitted across his face, and he gripped the phone tight as though he wanted to smash it onto the ground. He stopped himself at the last moment and just clutched it hard. He shouted in angry Japanese, which echoed against the locker room ceiling. He howled in either pain or sadness, Bart couldn’t tell which.
“Fucking hell! That stupid bitch!” Miku shouted in Japanese when he could no longer keep it tin, completely forgetting that he had been trying to look proper for the strange American. Miku continued cursing at the text message on his phone.
Bart was taken aback, but glad to have a reason to stay for awhile. When Miku bent over, his asscheeks shifted in waves, dropping out from under his mawashi. With his head near Bart, the smell of his chamomile hair-wax hit Bart’s senses with the strongly floral, almost medicinal smell of the chamomile blossoms.
Miku forced a smile on his face. “I am sorry for my outburst.” He bowed. “It is… my girlfriend, she is… I will not be going to her.” Miku was deflated. He never had sex before a match, or even before training. But now that he was done — and he had won! — he could do it, and he was horny enough to be thinking of little else. He always looked forward to that, to relieving his over-full balls, and she loved it too, or she had always claimed she did. It was like a post-match ritual for them.
But things had been going poorly anyway, and she had said she was going to her sister’s house for awhile. He thought they would patch things up eventually, but then she texted him during the match, when she knew he wouldn’t be available, to say she wouldn’t be coming back from her sister’s and that her brother-in-law was going to come pick up her things at Miku’s house.
So that made it pretty clear she was dumping him. Miku was single again.
“Are you okay?” Bart asked.
“Yes. It is fine.” Miku bowed again, though his face was still ruddy. His post-match tranquility had vanished, and he was suddenly overcome with horniness. He needed a woman. He was owed a woman. He couldn’t think about anything else. The idea of a woman, of relieving the stiffy throbbing in his mawashi, blared like a siren, and Miku was powerless to resist its call.
But he did not show any of these feelings on his face. He looked down at the strange American man who shouldn’t be here.
“I have a proposition for you,” Bart said. He blushed and smiled winsomely. “I’d like you to stick it in me.”
“What?” Miku understood all those words but still wasn’t quite sure he had understood what Bart meant.
“Will you stick it in me? I want to taste your dick, and I want you to get inside me-“
Miku frowned, looking down on Bart, who was short and petite and skinny. “You are a man in gender ways.”
“Yes. That’s correct. Accurately stated, well done, though grammatically lacking,” Bart said. He smiled. “I’ll pay you. I’ll give you ten thousand yen.”
After a long pause, Miku said once again, “What?” He touched his hair, wanting to undo the chonmage since the match was done. But this encounter was weird and offputting and he couldn’t focus on anything but thinking about his girlfriend and his need to alleviate his stiffy tonight or, preferably, right now. He scrutinized Bart to figure out what he said. Miku didn’t want to offend him by misunderstanding his request.
“Twenty thousand yen,” Bart said. He came closer and touched Miku’s chest, just above his belly, where sweat from his chest had collected.
“And for that money, you will expect me to… do penis. With you? Right now.”
“Yes, that’s correct. I want to do penis with you-“
“I do not know how to do that.”
“You don’t need to know. I’ll take care of it. You just have to stand there and do what comes naturally,” Bart said. His fingers caressed Miku’s belly, which was greasy with sweat. His muscles rippled beneath Bart’s touch.
Miku nodded. He still wasn’t entirely sure he understood what was happening, but he needed the money and figured he could always back out later. He didn’t even know if he could get hard without a woman in the room.
“Do you only jack off with wrestlers of sumo?”
Bart shook his head as he slid to his knees. He stuck his tongue out, tracing a long trail over Miku’s belly-folds, slurping out the sweat that collected there. “No. I simply appreciate the physiques of men. Certain physiques, certain men,” Bart said moistly, fluids spilling out of his mouth.
Miku grunted. Bart kissed his dick through the mawashi, and then Miku hurried to take it off — he wasn’t sure if his coach would approve if his mawashi was stained with spit. He might think it disrespectful to the sport.
The mawashi loincloth slid to the ground. The inside of it smelled strongly, and Bart inhaled the scent. He snorted and sniffled, his tongue snaking out and slurping up some of the moisture. He rubbed it all over his face.
He hadn’t intended to do that — he wasn’t an underwear-fetishist — but it smelled so much of fat manhood that he couldn’t help it. He stopped only because Miku looked at him like he was about to leave, and Miku’s dick hung fat and long, dangling, begging Bart to do something to it.
Bart knew he needed to get Miku hard or he might very well back out. Once a guy was erect, however, he’d almost never quit. A hard man was desperate to get a nut off. Bart relied on that principle.
So Bart dropped the mawashi and went right for Miku’s dick. He swallowed it down to the root in one smooth motion, making Miku shake. Bart giggled around the dick in his mouth — he loved making heavy men shake.
His hands reached up to the belly looming overhead. Bart was so tiny he was dwarfed by Miku’s heft, which was like a mountain above him. Miku’s belly obstructed Bart’s view of his head. Bart was buried underneath his fat, his hands kneading whatever belly-flesh he could get ahold of.
A loud chest-rattling sigh escaped from Miku’s lips, as Bart slurped on his with gusto and vigor. He choked up mouthloads of saliva that dripped down Miku’s shaft and into the meaty thickness of his crotch. In no time Miku was hard as iron, his dick throbbing, mouth gasping as he felt twinges of pleasure running through his veins.
He didn’t know a man’s mouth could be like this. His girlfriend rarely got him off at all, and when she did, she was ginger and meek about it. She thought Miku was acceptably handsome in spite of his belly, not because of it. So she dodged his belly when sucking his cock. She focused more on that than on actual sucking — since she treated it as more of a foreplay before the actual sex than as something she actually wanted to do.
Not Bart. He loved Miku’s belly more than anything else. He wanted to lick it, kiss it, suck on it like a supermodel’s pussy, feel it all over him, and he soon sat way back to force Miku to stoop lower — that both made it easier for Bart to lick his dick as well as making Miku’s belly press down on Bart’s head.
When he tasted some precum, Bart pulled off and gasped for air. Miku had him pinned against a locker now, his powerful hips humping even when Bart stopped working on his cock. That dick still jutted angrily forward, ramming back and forth and plowing into the air for a few thrusts.
Bart giggled as he tried to regain his breath. There was so much moisture in this little nook created by Miku’s belly it was like swimming in bodily fluids. There was creamy, sticky precum coating his shaft and dripping onto Bart’s face, as well as saliva from Bart’s moist mouth and layers of greasy, salty sweat flowing from his tubby body onto Bart’s face.
“Goddamn,” Bart said, “I love that belly. Are you ready to put it in me?” Bart didn’t wait for him to agree. He could tell by the way his dick throbbed that he was ready. Bart could have easily slid out from under Miku simply by going to the side. But that would hardly be the most exciting way to do it.
So instead he stuck his tongue out and licked his way free from his position crouching and squashed against the lockers. He suckled on Miku’s fat belly and licked his folds clean, while he kept both hands on Miku’s dick to keep the big man’s attention and desire going.
When Bart was out, covered head to toe in glistening sumo-sweat, Bart bent over the bench in the middle of the lockers. He stuck his ass up.
Miku hesitated. “You want to bend over? You do not want to ride on top of me?”
Bart shook his head. He loved being plowed into from behind like this. Miku was hesitant because none of his prior girlfriends would ever do it like that — he was too heavy, and there was no way to do it without his belly flopping all over Bart’s back. Miku’s girlfriends disliked that. Bart was looking forward to it.
“Stick me like this, you don’t have to go easy on me,” Bart said. “It’s okay to let your belly weigh me down.” He actually loved that. There was nothing more arousing than a massive man’s corpulence squashing him against the bench.
Miku was still hesitant at first. He’d never plowed into a man. He wedged his dick between Bart’s asscheeks and took a deep breath. He spread Bart’s smooth cheeks, which were firm but comically small in Miku’s massive mitt-like paws.
Bart was so delicate and pale, his body trembling. Miku wasn’t sure he could do this. He’d feel like he was spoiling something beautiful, something immaculate and natural.
But his cock moved of its own accord anyway. Miku was too horny — and frustrated with his now ex-girlfriend — to do more than slow himself down. He slipped the tip of his dick in and bit his lip.
A flood of pleasure instantly hit him, while Bart trembled beneath his heft. Miku chuckled at the sight. Girls never responded like that. Miku had to lift his belly to keep going deeper and deeper into Bart, whose well-lubed ass gladly took every inch of his meat.
It was astonishing how easy it was. Miku had thought he’d struggle to remain hard, but Bart’s body was so tender and warm, soft yet firm in the right places. Miku’s dick pulsated and slid right in, all the way, deeper than Miku had ever gotten in a girl’s ass.
Bart winced and squirmed, but Miku kept plowing into his ass, relentlessly thumping hard at him. His belly jiggling, rubbing against Bart’s back. The more he plowed in, the less Miku cared about his size. He pounded down on Bart, using more and more of his weight, until at last Bart was entirely buried in Miku’s body.
Bart squealed, gasping for air as he neared his own orgasm. He could barely even feel the pleasure in his prostate because of the blizzard of sensations on his back — there was a little hairy spot on Miku’s chest, which rubbed against Bart’s smooth skin, while Miku’s hot breath condensed on the back of his head. There was so much belly it seemed to drip around him, until Bart saw nothing but manflesh all around him.
He was literally buried, and Bart loved every moment of it. With all that heft on top of him, he could feel the muscle underneath it all. Sumo wrestlers were among the strongest athletes in the world, he thought, even if they didn’t get much credit for it because their muscles were buried.
But Bart was buried in there now too, so he was ensconced in Miku’s muscles, Miku’s cock exploring every inch of his insides. Bart finally roared and shouted as he reached his own orgasm, the sound of which was muffled by the four hundred pounds of meaty manhood pounding atop his back.
Neither had any idea how long it took. Miku thought it was over in moments, and he was a little disappointed — though also glad, because they would be interrupted by more rikishi sooner or later — but Bart thought it had taken forever, and it was glorious.
Time stopped as a prostate orgasm flowed through Bart’s veins. He never thought he’d get something like this in Japan. He howled, the sound reverberating through the folds of Miku’s flesh as cum sprayed within him.
There was a huge amount — Miku had been horny and refusing to even jack off for a few days in the leadup to today’s event — and cum filled Bart up in great waves. He sighed and moaned underneath that mountain of man-flesh, and yet still more cum jetted into him with each thrust of Miku’s powerful body. His muscles rippled beneath the layer of thickness above his trunk. Miku gasped. Another fat flow of jizz jetted into Bart’s behind.
It was hot and sticky, and Bart could feel it seeping into every part of his body. It dripped out of his ass too, forming a little puddle on the locker room floor, where it joined up with the puddle Bart had shot as well, not to mention the rather copious spit and sweat that had collected on the floor as well.
Finally, only when Bart had just realized he couldn’t breathe due to the heft overtop him, Miku rolled over and sighed. He stood massaging Bart’s smooth asscheeks with a big grin on his face.
“That was… a surprise,” Miku said. “Do not tell anyone with the league about it.” He still thought Bart had something to do with the International Sumo Association, and he assumed Bart needed to keep this a secret just as Miku did.
“I won’t. It’s just between us,” Bart said. He sat up and stretched his sore legs. “Say… where else in Japan do big guys hang out?”
He and Miku talked as they cleaned themselves up. Miku even cleaned up the cummy puddle on the floor, and he let Bart keep his mawashi. It was soaked with sweat, both fresh sweat from today’s exertions and also soaked in layers of salt crystals from past tournaments and workouts and practices. The well-worked cloth was warm with Miku’s body heat for now, and it stank with the musk of his fragrant ballsack. Bart inhaled deeply of the scent one more time, but then put it away before he got too horny again.
He wanted to bring the mawashi with him, back to America, to remind him of this forever. He wouldn’t smell it again in Japan, he told himself over and over — though he wasn’t sure he’d live up to that expectation — because he wanted to savor it anew in a few weeks, when he was back home again.
Besides, now that he’d gotten lucky in Japan once, Bart was eager to do it again.
