Work Header

The Meat Odyssey

Chapter Text


There were ancient paintings draped in cobwebs hanging hesitantly from strings noosed around corroded iron hooks protruding from the stone walls which lined the corridor he finely trod. It was a dream, he knew, a dream so vivid he would have been unable to tell it from reality were it not for the lack of context and the fact that the stone floor his bare feet touched brought no clear sensation. The paintings of landscapes haunted by eerie loneliness and desolation were strangely soothing; a hillside overgrown with withering dead weeds against a backdrop of darkly foreboding pines so well drawn they seemed as if they moved in harsh, cold late autumn winds, carrying with them a few scattered colourless leaves as they assaulted the world with reckless abandon. On another painting, a scene with some qualities that managed to bring up a misplaced sense of nostalgia; the interior of a barn, a rusty old tractor before the big cracked wooden doors, haunting because of what looked like a snow-storm outside, a white nothingness that sought to devour every last speck of colour and sanity with its blindingly lethal brightness. A swivel of snow seemed to come in with a gust of wind, leaving a faint trail across the dirt floor, where nauseating instruments of farming and torture lay spread about, of which most notable was a rusty old scythe. The entire picture was monochrome save a single small blur of dark crimson on the blade of that rusty scythe.

Turning his eyes to the other wall, portraits of an old man with ugly queer moustache and clothing from a time long since departed, a sequence of portraits, rather, a lengthy procession, where the only noticeable variation sans the ageing of the depicted individual was the remarkable change in his expression, transitioning gradually from a smile to a frown, then soon contorting, twisting, into the haunted expression of someone who has encountered the most unimaginable horror; a final scream before life gives up captured on canvass by some hand he found it impossible to think of as human. More landscapes followed on that side too; he turned to the other, landscapes still; big mountains piercing dark clouds, electrified pinnacles visited by innumerable lightning bolts, pictures of cities, dark cities more like ruins of black wet stone, glistening in the monochromatic nightmare of a moonlit night, piles, and temples with columns taller than the tallest of trees.

Before him the shape of a door materialised, and he slowed his walking in anticipation. The door had no handle, but at the slightest push it opened outward, and as it did, an uncanny breeze struck his face, carrying with it the smell of decomposition. The world outside was dark and colourless, and sharp winds carried thick charcoal black clouds hither and thither at great speeds, rolling and tumbling; and like milk in a cup of dark coffee formed and unformed thin spots where hesitant sunlight pale and sallow pierced through, illuminating a landscape of irregular earthen hills with barren soil through which rose like the claws of some abominable monstrosity withered headstones in neat rows. Seeing this landscape brought fear to his dreaming mind, and he began to run up a path up through whose pavement of packed dried mud now and then protruded skeletal fragments of the dead. This was a burial ground, an immeasurable necropolis where were discarded the final physical remains of forgotten humankind.

Towering before him he found a flight of stairs cut from the red basaltic rock that formed a steep summit some sixty metres tall crowned by a blasphemous temple-like structure whose pagoda roof appeared in silhouette against the hazy white light penetrating the clouds. There was an urge that drew him up those countless steep steps, and it felt at one point as if his feet had left the ground, and surrounded by strange loathsome wisps of black vapour whose movements seemed almost cognisant he floated up to the white marble doors, at once flinging effortlessly open and revealing inside a fountain with water red like wine or blood, and beyond, with shadows vibrating lively in the flickering light spread by two torches on the wall on either side he saw a throne, stately and impressive like those of ancient kings and queens, red satin seat and structure stained brown and yellow made out of a composite tangle of rodent bones.

With his bare buttocks on the chair he peered out through the temple gate but saw nothing but blackness and pallid brown and grey hills; but he noticed within, lit by the light of the fire, a lever made out of a human femur protruding through a hole in the armrest which that same peculiar urge compelled him to pull backwards, and as he did, the clouds began abruptly to part as if blown aside by some cosmic force and revealed in full colour the horrid landscape of the wasteland. The path from the overgrown stone fort, he could see now in the light, cut like a scar across the red Martian landscape; Martian? Was that the right word? Those hills looked far too uneven to be dunes or sand, they were irregular, steep in places, almost like the formation resulting from slowly flowing streams of thick lava, forming in places peculiarly repulsive terraces from which seemed to ooze thick red slime. And it struck him then, as he saw bones protrude from one of the red mounds, that they were not hills at all, but enormous amounts of flesh.

The light spread farther and revealed on the horizon a mountain of meat so tall its pinnacle glistening wet with the elixir of life penetrated the quickly thinning clouds. He understood too, the implication of the scenery, of the dream, it was nothing new, he had experienced it before, and peering out over those mounds of flesh he could not control himself any longer. From the corner of his mouth saliva began to reluctantly and hungrily drip.

Yellow dust, it must have been the same black smoke as had taken him up, caught him thus by the feet and flung him at great speed through the air, and he landed, unscathed but naked in the midst of the red meat. The surface was slippery and he fell down and as he got up he saw his hands covered in blood, and with his hands he began to claw at the flesh, and with his mouth he gnawed at whatever was red in front of him; the taste was exquisite, out of this world, he wanted to eat all of the delicious flesh he could fit –

He woke up with the taste of blood in his mouth. After gathering his thoughts from the groggy sleepiness, the only explanation that made sense was that he must have bitten his lip as he slept. For a while he stared into the ceiling, grey in the early morning winter light, before the urge to expel the contents of his bladder forced him up. The floor had a soft light-brown carpet, and the room in general save the wide spacious bed was fairly empty save a massive closet with wooden panels and a television set facing a leather sofa with colour matching the carpet in one corner of the room next to a few windows and a glass door to the small balcony. Next to the closet was also the door to the bathroom. Stretching his arms upwards and yawning Takayuki walked towards the windows and peered out into the wintry sleep of the Sunday morning; here and there were scattered dots of white, leftovers from last night’s snowfall, now slowly melting. Temperature shift had turned the snowfall into a cold rain by now. There was not often a lot of snow this far south. It was just above freezing and pillars of smoke rose up from various places in the cityscape that extended to the waterfront in the southeast, silhouetted against the bold and mist-shrouded pinnacle of the Sakurajima volcano.

The skies were ominously dark, and the masses of clouds wallowed in what might have been a mirror image of the waves of Kagoshima bay in the distance, where white geese reared their heads with great frequency. The rain now and then almost appeared to come from the side as gusts of wind threw it around viciously, and as the wind shifted direction and blew the rain drops onto the windows, Takayuki was reminded of the urgent situation in his bladder, and turned on the lamp next to the television set and then made his way urgently towards the bathroom. At the door, he cast a glance back towards the bed and saw that Sasaki’s tranquil sleeping shape was unmoved by his own activity. Perhaps it was the weather. Such bleak and unpleasant weather always had made Sasaki say he felt tired.

The bathroom was small and cramped. There was a washbasin below a bathroom cabinet with a mirror-clad door, and next to it a western toilet, and beyond this a set of glass doors opening into a shower with a high base so as to allow its utilisation also as a bathtub. After turning on the lights Takayuki bent down over the washbasin and sipped some water from the tap, and then splashed some in his face. In the mirror he saw his own reflection, which was not the most pleasant sight at the moment; his brown eyes looked tired and distant, his general complexion was unusually pale, and contrasted sharply with colourful hair; unnatural red going into orange hues and occasional stripes black, now frizzy on the right side from restless sleep, here and there warped into spiralling coils sticking together. He must have sweated quite a bit, he thought, while he slept. The rest of his body was just as pale, but with the mess in his hair in fresh memory, he thought nothing of it as he sat down on the toilet to get down to business.

It took a while before the warm stinging sensation that he felt on his prick brought him back from the hazy spheres of slow awakening. Upon looking down, he found that he was wearing a condom, and that it now had a bulging globe at the tip containing urine. It was amusing, and he laughed to himself before he took it off carefully and inspected it. Now that it had been taken off, he finished what he had been doing while amusedly looking at the yellow condom that now looked more like some half-finished sausage. The shifting of the bubbles inside the urine made him think of a time when Sasaki had put his cock in his face and said he was going to ejaculate, only to piss all over his face. He could do something like that, he thought, it would be downright hilarious.

With that in mind he walked on out of the bathroom and towards the bed where lay Sasaki prostrate on his belly, drooling innocently on the pillow with a red strand of Takayuki’s hair in his mouth. It was a scene so serene and cute it would be unfortunate to ruin it, yet, all things must come to an end, eventually, though he took the time to stand there and watch for a while, savouring the silly expression on Sasaki’s pretty face, his rather sharp nose with its big nostrils, the mouth with its relatively small lips with leftover smears of black lipstick at either corner from the evening last, and the frame of his nipple-length silky-smooth long blonde hair, it was too pretty to resist ruining it, and therefore, he grabbed the condom around the tip and emptied its contents over Sasaki’s head.

Thereupon followed silence for a long few seconds, after which Sasaki began to mumble something and snorted as if trying to imitate a pig but failing and ending up with queer whines, after which his eyes opened and he rolled over and felt the wetness on the pillow and the bed, and quickly realising what must have happened, got up towards the edge of the bed and grimaced with annoyance at Takayuki, who by now was giggling in a way that would have seemed inappropriate to anyone but Sasaki.

“Don’t pour piss on me and ruin my dreams,” said Sasaki after wiping some of the wetness out of his face. “You know what happens when you ruin erotic dreams?” he continued and left the words hanging like sinister stars making a sudden appearance on the night sky until he carelessly brushed the duvet aside and revealed his erection and brought his hand down to it and flopped it playfully. The entire length looked smooth and soft and almost irresistibly demanded to be touched; and at the tip where the foreskin was barely retracted was the mirror-lake of the wet glans. “It’s crying out for you,” he said and as soon as Takayuki made a move to sit down on the bedside, Sasaki got a firm hold of his waist and wrestled him down in the bed and with ease positioned Takayuki as he desired, for Sasaki was both taller and stronger than Takayuki, and he provided little resistance, rather he found it amusing and smiled at the treatment he was given.

Sasaki licked his way from Takayuki’s neck to his ear, where he opened his mouth and playfully nibbled for a while, as if trying to make the situation feel less like an awkward but necessary medical exam or having to pretend enjoying an uncomfortable dinner with estranged parents. It took Takayuki by surprise when Sasaki quite roughly plunged his cock into his rear without any form of lubrication apart from some urine, which was certainly not conducive to easing the friction, and unavoidably the sharp pain that radiated out into his body before the entire length had made its way in made him wince and moan softly. Their naked bodies interlocking, Sasaki, all the while filling the passage like a well-moulded piston in a machine, increasing the frequency of his thrusts, grabbed a hold of Takayuki’s face and turned it towards him, gently, and with delicate motions of tongue against lips, got Takayuki to open the door, whereupon saliva-wet tongues slithered hungrily, twistingly, around one another.

The thought of Sasaki’s cute and well-shaped cock inside of him had rendered Takayuki’s hard, too; a momentary perfection, its dimensions almost as if it had been made to fit his very arse; and the erection Sasaki soon spotted as he took a break from the slobbering kissing, and with the wide grin of a school yard bully he reached one of his pale long, slender arms towards it and Takayuki twisted impatiently as he felt the warm fingers wrap like a hungry octopus on prey around his prick. It took not even a minute of rapid hand movements before Takayuki emptied his reservoir of warm white cream onto Sasaki’s fingers, which immediately went up to Takayuki’s face with orders of thorough cleaning issued between bouts of heavy panting. As soon as the fingers were free from the strings and blobs of white goo, Sasaki pulled out quickly and flipped Takayuki rather uncaringly over so that he lay with his belly down, face buried in the pillow and legs slightly apart. Sasaki positioned himself properly and pushed his full seventeen centimetres in anew, this time only to moans of pleasure, and once inside he relaxed and spread out so as to cover Takayuki, and put his head to rest next to the other man’s.

In this position Sasaki proceeded to let his penis loose again, and minutes of heavy breathing and the smacking of hips against buttocks ensued, and speed seemed to increase exponentially, and the wet mucus of Takayuki’s rectum was more than enough for good lubrication, a slight dribble brought up from the return trips soon made a slow journey down from the opening to the testicles, from which it dripped down on the bed. Soon thereafter Takayuki felt the filling warmth of Sasaki’s ejaculate inside of him, moaning merrily as he savoured the moment of satisfaction, of bestial union and love. Sasaki relaxed his body but kept his erection inside as it slowly began to retract; their faces next to one another, exhalations mixing, Sasaki stretched his arms down and his hands eventually found Takayuki’s and delicately interlocked, and in that way they lay for a good fifteen minutes, not saying anything or even thinking much of anything, enveloped in the closeness of one another as the sweat slowly dried on their bodies.

Takayuki and Sasaki were facing one another in the combined shower and bath now filled to the brim with warm water, leaving the mirror above the sink misty with condensation that accumulated and eventually slowly snaked its way down the surface to the edge whereupon it dripped into the sink. The water had attained the colouration of a clear tropically green pond from the flask of some bath oil they had emptied into it before they entered, whose airy odour now filled the room and would have made any uninitiated observer think this was the romantic weekend of any ordinary couple – aside from, maybe, that the two lovers were both men. But there was much more than that which was afoot here, though the pulse of the universe and the strangeness that reached into normalcy from beyond the darkest of barriers and far beyond any of the farthest reaches of the cosmos any human eye had ever gazed upon even with the aid of telescopes. However, for the time being the scene was serene and innocent and revealed nothing of the hideous darkness that formed the framing and the background for the two.

“What time is it?” were the first words out of Sasaki’s mouth for a while, and it was obvious to Takayuki that he was worried they might end up running late.

“Don’t worry,” replied Takayuki, “we have a lot of time; it’s only – ” He paused and looked at the watch on his arm, one of those water-proof digital watches that had been the vogue a long time ago. “Just before ten. We won’t have to be at the railway station before one o’clock anyway. There’s no reason to hurry.”

Sasaki relaxed visibly; and Takayuki added, “You know, I’ve heard that Ruri is in town. You remember that turncoat, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. Are we finally going to deal with him?”

“I’ve been thinking about it; he’ll definitely be taken care of when we catch sight of him.” Being told this, Sasaki grinned.

Islands of foam floated around in the bath between them, tiny islands like the sort you’d expect to host a few rocks and a single palm tree and provide an amusing backdrop for a novel about being stranded on an island in the middle of nowhere. Those islands formed and unformed and a few times Takayuki thought some of the foam was from ejaculate that had escaped from himself, but saw no reason to point this out to Sasaki. Maybe he had the same thought. And maybe Sasaki, too, had experienced the dreams.

“It was ten years ago that we met today,” Takayuki finally said. “It’s hard to fathom how quickly time has run by. Last night I had the dreams again.” The last was added as if in a rush. A sudden interjection, just to throw it out there, and hope he would not have to explain so much, hoping that Sasaki remembered everything he had shared previously about the dreams and the events that occurred way back in 1934, and what had happened since.

“I know,” Sasaki replied, “I have had the dreams too. It is that time again, it seems. It feels like it was just some months ago, but I guess it really has been a full ten years.”

Takayuki was visibly relieved that Sasaki had shared the dreams and remembered so well the peculiarities of the urges that had come to affect them both. Ten years ago to the day, more or less, Takayuki had run into Sasaki for the first time, and it was more or less love at first sight; he had been sitting on the Tama River waterfront underneath the National Route 1 bridge in the evening, peering towards the golf course and baseball field on the opposite side, illuminated by the floodlights, with cigarette in hand, a phallic symbol that in the context seemed like something other than a slow suicide, more like an eagerness for adventure, a desire to get away from the riverside shack of cardboard and vividly blue tarpaulin. It was the first time in countless years that Takayuki had approached someone during one of the trips he took every ten years without the presence of any malice, and it was the first time he had shared the horrible truth.

Takayuki smiled and reached his arms around Sasaki.

It had been a cold spring morning in early March 1934. Takayuki was then soon to turn twenty-five years old, and had felt compelled to help his struggling father, who was a highly unpleasant character obsessed with by all means possible maintaining an air of strength, honour and independence despite being forced by economic circumstance to cohabit with his son. He had been laid-off from the radio and telegraph equipment factory he had been working at for the last fifteen years, and had instead begun to make a meagre living by selling home-brewed liquor in an alleyway in a seedy neighbourhood near Sapporo Railway Station.

The day of the incident Takayuki and his father had experienced something of a quarrel. His father refused to contribute his part to the rent, citing lower than expected sales. Takayuki knew this could not be true, for he had found hidden away in a closet next to the bathroom a leather bag containing some of the liquor with a label reading PRIVATE USE stuck to them. Takayuki had left earlier than usual in the morning and arrived at the south signal box near Kami-Noppori station at kilometre-mark 49 on the down line from Sapporo three hours before he was supposed to. He worked then as an attendant at the signal box, responsible for sorting the heavy paperwork and filing documents of cleared trains for the Government Railways.

Being early, he walked from the station and instead headed towards the tranquil stream across which the railway passed on a three-track bridge. The rays of the sun to some extent made up for the chilly air temperature, and Takayuki sat down on a rock right next to the bridge and let his feet go into the revitalising cold water of the stream. Now and then a push from the wind shifted the flowers and grass that grew along the ditch through which the stream flowed, and wet with morning dew they cast haphazardly in all directions the flickering reflections of the sun; here and there the noise of novel motorcars passing on the old rickety road nearby and the more distant noises of industry at the big brewery, accompanied by the unpleasant whines and screeches of some loathsome birds. Moving his legs in the water weakly, it caught him by surprise when suddenly a tremendous roar encroached on the innocence and tranquillity, a roar that grew and grew and soon appeared to resound from the ground in disturbingly violent vibrations. Thinking it was an earthquake, Takayuki got off the stone upon which his buttocks had rested and moved towards the middle of the stream, hoping to escape any potential small landslides as might occur.

But it was not an earthquake.

Speeding across the bridge was the morning up goods train towards Hakodate, and it was moving much too fast, something had clearly gone awry. The morning train often carried wagons from the secretive military complex near Rumoi, and having seen the documents that supposedly chronicled the contents, the military wagons often had content lists that were simply blank or crossed out. It were those dark-green wooden wagons that now lifted off the track at the bridge from the careening train and began their journey in a trajectory that Takayuki noticed would come dangerously close to himself. At the same time, his brain recognised the fact that there was no time for moving out of the way entirely, and therefore, he quickly cowered down next to the rocks on one of the ditch sides at the water’s edge. With half his body sunk into the cold stream water he fancied himself potentially able to escape, at least as good as was possible.

As the derailed carriages came flying at surprising speed, he closed his eyes and hoped for the best. Had he been religious, he might have prayed, but he had no time for such nonsense. The roar seemed to climax and there came loud thuds and the sharp sounds of steel hitting steel and wood splintering, and soon he was enveloped in a cloud of dust, which in his nose produced a sensation making him imagine rusty iron bars. Something somewhere fell into the water and there was a disjointed rumbling and screeching of wheels on the rails, but soon it all was silence once again.

Upon opening his eyes he could at first not see much. There was nothing but that red-brown haze before his eyes. As the dust settled and the surroundings materialised he became aware that he had indeed escaped unscathed. Right above him was a goods van, leaning against the rocks and another van, and its door was shattered, revealing the insides. It was a perplexing thing to see in a goods van: a strange oily black rock fastened with ropes and wires from all sides, kept sturdily in place. There had been some textile wrappings too, but they now hung in tatters from the ropes. Darker spots were visible all over the rock, revealing what must be some form of apertures, and it was from one of those that the horror had its origin.

It really looked innocent enough at first. A little yellow spot that seemed to expand until it became obvious that it was something that was coming out of the rock, towards him. It was flowing freely, a little runlet of molten butter as it came out and into the open in the shadow of the train wreckage; and then, it fell from the rock and landed on Takayuki’s face. He found himself gasping for reasons unknown and beyond his control, involuntary muscular contractions or something, and soon he fell unconscious, and when he woke up in the hospital two days later, he fancied it had just been a dream; a fancy not shattered until months later, when the other dreams began, when the hunger had its start.

It was Sasaki waving his hand before his eyes that called him back from his untimely recollections. “Hey, Taka,” he said, “Are you there?” The only response he got was Takayuki rolling his eyes in confusion, desperately trying to fix them on anything, until his gazed fixed on Sasaki’s deep brown-green eyes, their colour mixed and speckled, appearing from some angles like the brown rocks and dead coral on the bottom of a shallow lagoon seen through the shifting green tropical waters, perhaps with the sunset sprinkling the scene with streaks of gold.

“Beautiful eyes,” Takayuki uttered vacantly, for such was the scene that welcomed him to the present. Sasaki smiled and closed them, hid them away; and Takayuki could only take that as a signal to escalate intimacies in the tub. He wrapped his arms tightly around Sasaki and began prodding those delicate lips with his tongue, soon gaining access to the warm palate beyond. They kissed deeply for a few seconds before Taka lifted Sasaki’s legs over his own under the water, pulling his bottom closer; their pricks, both erect, began to brush against each other as their lips touched and saliva intermingled. Soon Sasaki had shifted his smooth bottom nimbly onto Takayuki’s cock, and with little effort Taka slipped inside, wanting to laugh at the large bubble that simultaneously floated to the top of the fragrant water – he refrained from giving in to this temptation for fear that it would break his state of arousal. When he started thrusting, more bubbles came, but he could ignore these; Sasaki’s hole commanded all of his attention as it greedily slurped up his cock time and time again, ever reluctant to let go – it could be seen stretching under the clear rippling water, mound-like, to retain the treat every time he tried to withdraw; and Sasaki moaned softly whenever his mouth was not occupied by Taka’s tongue, which was not often now.

In the midst of the passionate fucking, Takayuki took hold of Sasaki’s cock in one of his hands and began to stroke it; and this accompanied by a few more thrusts sent white wisps of ejaculate floating to the surface between them. Takayuki hadn’t come yet, and he thought it might be best to finish outside of the hole, so he carefully pulled out; then he stood up, his throbbing organ just about level with Sasaki’s nose; Sasaki knew what to do immediately and lunged at it, taking it without hesitation to the throat with apparent lack of any gag reflex to speak of. It was not long before Taka had a hold of the beautiful blonde head in his hands and was impaling it repeatedly; he soon ejaculated straight down Sasaki’s throat, which swallowed eagerly. Takayuki relaxed his arms and Sasaki removed himself to catch his breath, then stood up, staring at the water beneath them.

“I think we’ve washed enough,” Sasaki said. “We should dry off before we look like raisins.”

With the chattering of variably coloured decorative plastic bracelets (forming something like the spectrum of a rainbow), Takayuki let his hands dig deep into the two crimson sports bags he had just retrieved from under the bed, searching for a new set of clothes for both him and Sasaki. He began taking out what he was looking for and put it in neat piles on the bed. Their stage outfits where in the sports bags and they would have to run by the greasy tour driver they had been assigned, for he would take the stage clothes with him as he drove back to Tokyo; stage clothes they had worn during the final gig of the tour with their band The Chocolate Factory.

“Are those our new clothes?” Sasaki asked as he came out of the bathroom; and as he passed by Takayuki, who stood naked bent over the bags and was retrieving some of his own things, he slapped the smaller man on the buttocks playfully, though Taka seemed scarcely to pay it any attention whatsoever.

Sasaki put his rear to rest on the bed next to one of the clothes piles, which was white; and as Takayuki had retrieved his own, he proceeded to take the white clothes down on the floor with him, and pulled up one of Sasaki’s legs and sniffed his way down from just below the knee to the foot. He balanced the leg on his shoulder as he retrieved from the pile one of the white latex stockings and, with masterly moves, shifted position and inserted first Sasaki’s left foot into it, and after arduously pulling the tight-fitting fabric up to roughly half-way between the knee and the crotch, got started with the other; and as he was finished he sensually treated them with some jelly (retrieved from a flask from one of their other bags) to enhance the shiny smoothness of the material.

He then put a belt around Sasaki’s hips and tightened this through a heart-shaped buckle in the front, and connected the two white shiny garters of elastic but still shiny material on the outward side of each leg to the a metal loop fitting on the appropriate place of the stockings with the help of a closed hook on the garters.

Sasaki’s’ tightly sealed feet caressed Takayuki’s once more erect prick. “I’d fuck you again right now,” he said in response to this teasing, “if I had any sperm left.” Sasaki giggled and turned his eyes innocently away, just as exotic deep-sea fishes turn their biochemical lanterns away to get prey where they want it; though perhaps without any hint of the menacing. Takayuki got up from sitting on his knees on the floor, and unravelled the rest of the outfit; he made Sasaki stand, too, and made sure his arms were into the arms of the outfit, which terminated in a loop around the middle fingers. It fit snugly around Sasaki’s delicate shape, and making a few corrections here and there to smooth out wrinkles, he zipped it up and closed the flap over the zipper with snap buttons. The dress was made of latex, and had a flat, loose short skirt (short enough to still reveal the garters; it had a zipper at the side that could be opened to make it easier to flip up and allow greater movement) with overlapping sections in the back also sealed with a snap button (to cover the zipper), and an elongated circular opening in the front extending from just above the crotch to the lower ribs, exposing most of Sasaki’s soft abdomen beneath the tight stretch over the chest, which ended in a high collar, going a good way up the neck.

Once Sasaki was dressed, it was his turn to dress Takayuki; and as he bent over and stretched his arm out for the mostly red clothing pile that remained on the bed, his movements resulted in the rubbery creaking, squeaking of his elaborate attire – sounds typical of such high-quality material, which constituted much of Takayuki’s outfit as well. With a little push, Sasaki’s hand guided Taka onto the bed; in his other he held some opaque red and black striped tights taken from the pile, which he proceeded to slip onto Taka, up to the knee on the first foot, then on the other, before rolling his amused lover onto his upper back, feet in the air; and in that position Sasaki started to pull the tights the rest of the way down over the two thighs, noticing holes in the stretchy fabric that had probably been there a while. Takayuki had to stand up again before the tights could be pulled over his buttocks, and Sasaki, noticing a rather large hole strategically placed about the anus, could not help but give him a quick peck with the tongue there, if only to tickle him.

“So you’ve found the secret access,” Taka said, giggling.

The next piece of Takayuki’s outfit was a sharply red-coloured latex mini-dress, with the zipper down the back hidden under a thin flap; he did not need much of Sasaki’s help to step into this, though Sasaki zipped it up for him. The skirt was pleated and stretched to just above Taka’s knees; and over the chest area of the tight, slick dress, was a circular opening which revealed Takayuki’s wonderful, smooth skin from just above the nipples to just below the collar bone; their outfits, Sasaki remembered, were tailored to match each other without looking too similar, which would explain the shared overall designs with yet significant variations. Takayuki’s dress did not possess sleeves, but alluring frills at the shoulders exposing almost the whole of his arms; Sasaki took one of his scrawny arms and kissed it above the elbow, after which Taka used his free arm to reel Sasaki in by the waist; and they hugged, their outfits squeaking in unison.

“Shall we get into our shoes?” Sasaki suggested after closing and picking up the bags on the bed, and Takayuki nodded and led the way.

By the door in their room they slipped into their patent leather boots; each pair had chunky platform heels of approximately thirteen centimetres’ height; Taka’s were red, knee-high affairs which he zipped up quickly; Sasaki’s white thigh-highs took a little more time, but soon they were both standing with their heads almost dangerously close to the ceiling.

“Aren’t we forgetting something?” Sasaki queried. Takayuki was sure they were, and he was promptly off to the side of the bed, bent on his knees again; after a second of feeling around, he pulled out the metre-long black leather suitcase by the handle; it contained some essential tools and cutlery and certainly could not be left behind! Though it was actually quite light, its particular dimensions made it a bit of a burden to carry.

“Now we’re all ready,” Taka said as he approached Sasaki, who now was waiting by the open door, wearing both sports bags on one arm.

The lift doors opened and immediately ahead, sitting on a soft red chair with what appeared to be a rather inconvenienced expression on his face was the bald round-headed man they were looking for. They walked up to him and were given a surprised glance as he finally took his eyes off the screen of his mobile phone and saw them in their stunning outfits; and Sasaki dropped the two red sports bags on the floor before him.

He sighed. He had a short goatee that seemed reluctant to grow, and wore a black T-shirt with the logotype of some dreadful Western band, and there were strange stains on his dark trousers (Takayuki thought they might have been black at one time), whose origins neither Sasaki nor Taka really wanted to establish with any certainty.

“Is this all?” he asked.

“Yes,” Takayuki replied. “It’s not much, you should be happy. Did you do as I asked and look up where Ruri’s staying in town?”

He got off the chair and took the sports bags before replying. “Yes, it’s over at Silk Inn Kagoshima, it’s actually really close to here. It is just down the road on this side, it’s maybe a few hundred meters at most. You can’t miss it. Big signs and everything.” Then his eyes glanced over the large suitcase that Takayuki carried. “What about that one?” he added.

“Our personal things,” Sasaki explained.

He turned around abruptly and began walking towards the lift to the underground parking garage.

“Thanks,” Takayuki said, even though he was unsure that the driver and on-scene tour manager who was in such a hurry to get back to the car heard it.

They checked out of the hotel (stay was covered by the organisers of the tour) and walked out on the street. Tall buildings lined the main street onto which they came out in either direction, big office buildings covered with haphazard advertisement clutter and occasional flat blocks of a more expensive variety. Now and then the wall of high rises was interrupted by smaller older developments that had yet not been cleared and redeveloped. There were four lanes of traffic, though there was not so much of it – for it was Sunday – and the whole world outside was wet. There was a slight chilly wind blowing in from the bay, which could be felt in disjointed gusts that now and then tumbled down from above between the tall buildings, cast back and forth between the bodies like food on a wok, but all in all that was not too troublesome. They wouldn’t be staying outside for too long, either way.

“Down the street,” Sasaki stated. “Was that what he said?”

“Down the street,” Takayuki repeated. “That has to be towards the bay, right, and away from the station? I don’t remember seeing any place with that name when we walked here yesterday.”

“There’s a sign over there,” said Sasaki and pointed. Above the pavement at a cross roads some distance down the road was a clearly visible neon sign above the roof of a fat reddish tiled building with square windows. SILK INN KAGOSHIMA it said.

Takayuki smiled at Sasaki and the two started walking towards it along the tree-lined boulevard, passing a bus stop and at least one entrance to some seedy basement pornographic store, though this they paid no attention. From the clutter of offensive images and posters visible in the alleyway the arrows pointed at as the way to go, it must have been aimed at a different market.

Leisurely they went through the automatic doors to Silk Inn hotel that opened up at an angle to the road junction just next to it, and inside the doors, the red brick tiling of the sidewalk outside continued almost uninterruptedly and their heels clicked pleasantly against the surface. Inside there was a reception desk against the far wall with two doors to lifts on either side and a door to some storage space right behind, and rows of sofas along the long side walls. Two plastic palms in big pots greeted them on either side of the door. There was only a lone woman in the reception with big glasses and a bored expression framed by long greasy light brown hair she seemed to have tried to straighten but given up halfway.

Takayuki looked around, started talking softly, perhaps not sure himself that what he was saying was accurate, and reflected the reality of the situation. “I think they keep master keys somewhere, probably beyond that door. I’ll try talking to the receptionist and ask if they knew where he is staying, and you’ll go in to the door to whatever they have behind there and look for some master key, I think the janitors and maintenance personnel probably carry such.”

Sasaki surveyed the situation but was unsure of Takayuki’s seemingly ad-hoc plan.

“How do you imagine me sneaking past the receptionist?” Sasaki asked.

They both walked forward some distance, and then reluctantly stopped again; a new door came into view on their left. “Try that door,” Takayuki said. A sign above it said RESTAURANT. “I can’t imagine there’s much activity in the hotel restaurant on a day like today. You might be able to find your way around somewhere in there. Like a door from the kitchen to the storage room and – ”

“— and what if I run into someone who tries to stop me?” Sasaki interrupted Taka.

“Ignore them and they might think you have some real mission or that you somehow belong there.”

“If they stop me with force?”

“Kill them.”

Sasaki smiled amusedly, knowing that it was only half-serious, and disappeared through the double doors into the restaurant. Takayuki walked forwards to the receptionist, who seemed caught up in her own world; earphones played some dulling electronic music were deeply lodged inside her ears.

Takayuki waved his hand before her. She pulled one of the earphones out by tugging at the white cable and rolled arrogantly her eyes that seemed so blasé.

“What is it?” she asked sharply.

“I’m looking for someone,” Takayuki started innocently, “could you help me?”

“Maybe,” she replied and spat out a gum on the floor next to her. “What’s the name of whoever you’re looking for?” She seemed very service-minded.


“Ruri? That all you got?”

“Yes.” Takayuki tried to remember if he had ever learned what Ruri’s last name was. He could not remember what it was, or even if he had ever been told. “It’s all I know,” he added.

She typed some at her computer terminal and stared into the pale blue oblivion for what seemed to be an aeon of time. A fat salaryman walked in through the door hand in hand with a young woman in a skimpy outfit who, as she glanced at Takayuki, seemed to think they were in the same trade. His glance back was one of spite and rejection. The fat salaryman with his plain black and white suit and blue tie vanished with the woman into the lift. The incessant whirring of a fan in the ceiling right above the reception was making the waiting seem even longer.

“I’m sorry,” the woman finally said. “I cannot seem to find anyone with the family name Ruri here.”

“It’s not the family name,” Takayuki stated and sighed heavily. Not even she could not have misunderstood the implication of the sigh. She was incompetent.

“Oh,” she said and resumed typing on the keyboard.

Sasaki came out from the restaurant and dangled a set of room keys from his long slender fingers as he looked over towards Takayuki with a satisfied glee as evident from his content smile.

“We have some person who checked in as Ruri Sugihara in room 504,” she said, finally delivering that which their moods most craved. “That’s on the fifth floor.”

Figured. “Thanks,” Takayuki said wryly and he met up with Sasaki as they went into the small lift whose inside was made up of pleasant wooden panels radiating homely warmth. It jumped to and began to ascend almost immediately as they clicked the round green button with the number 5 inside a circle.

There was a mechanical ping and the lift doors slid open. Roughly midway in the corridor which was lit by sharp white ceiling lights a door was simultaneously opening, and as Takayuki and Sasaki stepped out, walking next to one another, they soon saw that it was none other than the very Ruri they were looking for; they saw it before his face became visible, they could tell from the familiar long pink and red hair with occasional black – though he apparently had lost all sense of clothing aesthetics since they last saw him, for he now sported an ugly pink tracksuit – and as Ruri himself turned around and saw them in their oh-so-arousing outfits, he quickly turned away in fear and shut the door closed as fast as he could.

“He thinks we didn’t think of the door and lock, does he? Never expected such naïveté from him,” Takayuki said. “You unlock and open the door and move in behind it in case he tries something pointless and desperate, like throwing chairs at us.” Sasaki nodded and moved to the door with the key in hand.

“Ready?” Takayuki stood next to the door on the opposite side, and Sasaki unlocked and pulled it open, ending up behind it as it gave way. There came no chair or any other object flying, no scissors or anything, and as Takayuki entered, he found that the bathroom door, which opened from the left onto the narrow hallway that was immediately past the doorway he had just stepped through, had been locked. Sasaki closed the hotel room door behind Takayuki and followed quickly to his side.

“He’s in there,” Takayuki said and tried the door. “Come out, Ruri, we just want to talk a little. I heard you were in town.”

Silence from the bathroom. Sasaki walked up and knocked lightly. “Hello, Ruri, don’t be so shy.”

“Go away.” A single response, but a response nevertheless; he was in there. “Leave me alone,” he continued from beyond the bathroom door. “You can’t expect me to stay around just because you guys want me to, I have things I want to do, too.”

Takayuki and Sasaki looked at one another amusedly and snickered together.

“We just want to talk,” Sasaki repeated what Takayuki said earlier.

“Like I’m going to believe that,” came the response from the bathroom.

Sasaki tried the bathroom door with the key. It clicked open. Both Takayuki and Sasaki forced the door quickly aside and stormed into the bathroom, where Ruri was sitting on the toilet seat expecting them to just go away and give up. He cursed, but before he had any coherent thought formed Takayuki and Sasaki had him in a firm grip and carried him slowly (for he struggled constantly and tried fruitlessly to kick his assailants) to the hotel room bed, where they without much effort extracted him from the hideous tracksuit, under which he was nude; then they tied his hands and feet roughly with thick, durable ropes retrieved from their suitcase, which now lay open on an armchair in the corner of the room.

“What the fuck are you going to do with me, you crazy bastards?!” Ruri had tears coming out of his eyes as he lied disabled on the bed; some had wetted wisps of his faded red-dyed hair.

“Nothing you don’t want,” Takayuki said. “You can’t just run away from us on some shallow urge of yours; we will make sure you will never leave our side again.” And with that, Takayuki whispered something in Sasaki’s ear which sent him over to the armchair.

He leaned in and rifled through the suitcase’s contents until pulling up a modest black-handled dagger with a double-edged blade – an “athame,” it was labelled in the small, dying dingy shop of occult curiosities from which he’d purchased it long ago – and when he returned with it to Takayuki, Ruri’s eyes widened with terror and he took in a sharp breath, preparing to scream his lungs out; Taka bent over him and deftly covered the gasping mouth with his palm. Sasaki lifted the front of Taka’s skirt and cut a hole in the crotch of the tights, allowing his throbbing prick to fall free; then Taka climbed onto the bed and knelt over Ruri, whose head was now between his knees and mouth still carefully covered. Tears flowed down the sides of Ruri’s face as his eyes were fixed, not on Takayuki, but on Sasaki, dagger-wielding Sasaki, who now held the blade lazily in the space above Ruri’s face and below Taka’s penis.

“It might help for you to be a bit harder,” Sasaki said, bending slightly and giving the penis a few wet kisses which he fancied were enough. After a couple of exchanged glances, Sasaki proceeded, in not-so-ceremonious a manner, to press the blade into the tip of Takayuki’s penis, drawing blood; and before Ruri could really ascertain what was happening, his mouth was uncovered, blood dripping into it; he tried to close it, but Taka had inserted two curled fingers to make this impossible, followed by his bleeding erection, whereafter he also pinched his nose tight. Ruri could not help but swallow Taka’s blood as the slit cock was thrust continuously in his throat and he had to gasp for breath between thrusts; Takayuki came in little time, and after making sure Ruri had swallowed the semen, he pulled out, and took his hands off the poor sod’s face.

Ruri coughed desperately, disgustedly, then said: “I always suspected you guys were sick in the head, but this is beyond belief! What is the point of it all... what sick cult...”

Before Ruri could complete his confused sentences, Sasaki stuffed a white rag in his mouth, then a red rubber gag ball to hold that in, fastened with leather straps at the back of his head. Takayuki laughed. “That ought to let us work in silence,” he said, though Ruri continued some slight muffled moans. Sasaki went back to the open suitcase and slipped the athame into a flat, plastic compartment built into the very bottom of the suitcase – that was where their cutlery was stored, leaving ample room still for sex toys, bland rags, unopened condoms, some tubes of personal lubricants, and, of course, Ruri, after a bit of trimming. From the flat compartment he then pulled, with not a little effort and stretching of the fingers, a bone saw, at the sight of which Ruri began some pathetically muffled screaming and hopeless struggles with his restraints.

“Who’s to do the partitioning then?” Sasaki queried.

“I will,” answered Taka, taking the saw from Sasaki’s grasp. “For old time’s sake.”

Sasaki got up on the bed and knelt over Ruri’s midriff, buttocks pressing hard against his abdomen so that it was much more tiring for him to struggle. Takayuki held the saw with both hands, hovering it above the right leg. “Where do you think is good?” he asked, and Sasaki pointed to the middle of the thigh; so Taka let the serrated edge fall there, bite into the soft flesh, before he started pushing it back and forth. Blood gushed out over the sheets and Ruri’s muffled screaming intensified, but soon Taka got through the hard bone and cut through the back of the thigh like butter; Sasaki grabbed the separated limb that was still tied to the bed, pulled it towards his mouth and began to nibble at the red exposed meat; Ruri’s cries had died down, but he was still alive, and horrified, wondering just when death would release him from the pain. Takayuki walked around to the other side of the bed, and started on Ruri’s left leg, which he removed more quickly than the right, the necessary skills within him having fully thawed after their ten-year hibernation.

For the left arm he figured it would be good to cut just above the elbow, and this he did swiftly as Ruri shut his eyes tight in agony; Taka had always liked the look of Ruri’s large hands, and decided he was going to keep one of them as a memento when they were done with the arms; he moved over to the other side of the bed again, and sawed off the last limb above the elbow, making an additional grind through the wrist there until the hand came off in Taka's, and he set it aside where he'd remember to throw it in the suitcase before they left. Ruri was free at last, though immobile, and still alive. The wounds at the bottoms of his leg stumps had already begun to heal – the parasitic organism, that had granted both Takayuki and Sasaki eternal life and the hunger, had transferred in the blood and was doing what it does to preserve a host. Sasaki set down the severed leg he had taken, which was already gnawed to the bone. “I'm rather full,” he said. “Aren't you going to eat anything now?”

Takayuki picked up Ruri's other leg in response, held it in his arms and stroked its smooth, supple skin for a moment before biting and tearing into the thigh; when he lifted his head to ease the swallowing, thin streams of blood mixed with saliva ran down his chin and neck, which Sasaki now ventured to lick. Their sounds made Ruri more uneasy than he had been, if that were even possible; and out of morbid curiosity he unclenched his eyes, only to see Taka and Sasaki kissing each other over him with bloody mouths, holding between them what he was queasily certain was one of his legs, chewed and mangled. He shouldn't be alive to watch this, he decided – it wasn't natural; but even were he not gagged, he'd be unable to voice the questions that swelled deep in his gut.

There was not too much blood. The organism did not altogether prevent the loss of blood, but slowed bleeding and made wounds heal a great deal faster. Takayuki had washed off the blood that stained his hands, and as he came back, he assisted Sasaki in transferring Ruri to the suitcase, where limbless he was doomed to rest forevermore. The top of the suitcase had numerous small holes for ventilation, but this was not out of necessity of preserving life, but to provide some modicum of comfort. Ruri seemed to stare into nothingness, paralysed by fear and the shock of what had been done to him; but he would recover. The parasitic organism that now lived in all three would make sure of that. Leaving Ruri alone to heal some more, they proceeded to roll up the bloody bed sheets and duvet and leave them in the bathtub. Takayuki and Sasaki both knew there would be no investigation beyond a cursory glance by the police. There were higher levels involved, and they would not be keen on letting this information out. They could even be so bold as to leave what remained of the limbs tied to the bed; the bite marks would not be tested – and if they were tested, would turn up nothing, for he and Sasaki no longer had dental records.

The inside of the suitcase had wide black leather bands and fittings to adjust these. They adjusted the bands; one over Ruri’s forehead, one over his breast, one across his midriff and one last one over the hips, crossing next to the stumpy remains of his legs, right above his cock.

“I want to try him right now,” Sasaki said and teased his way from the right nipple to the cock and poked his finger in circles around the rectum, topping it then off with a slap on the thigh, which made Ruri mutter something in his otherwise meditative silence.

“No,” Takayuki said. “We should leave him alone for now, though he might want to eat something before we go.”

“But then we have to remove the rag and the gag-ball!”

“Didn’t think of that. You’re right, that’s not a good idea. Not yet. He has to grow… accustomed, first.”

“Can I at least put in the plug?”

Takayuki nodded in response.

“The Plug,” always referred to in singular with queer sympathy for the sleek black form, lay in a corner of the open suitcase. Sasaki took hold of it and brought it to his mouth, whereupon he continued to salivate and lick over it, leaving little slimy traces like slug trails.

Ruri seemed unaware of what was about to happen. The plug was a full twelve centimetres long and sported quite the circumference, wherefore it proved troublesome for Sasaki to get in. He twisted it gently and slowly as he prodded the warmly pink opening to Ruri’s insides, and slowly the sphincter gave way, though there was still considerable resistance. Pulling it back and forth a few times to loosen things up, it went in further, and further, until the ring closed tightly around the neck prior to the wide flared base.

Ruri was moaning. Sasaki slapped him playfully on the cheek.

“Shut up,” he said. “Take it like a man.”

Takayuki laughed and said, “That never gets old.”

They closed up the suitcase. The straps were sure to hold Ruri properly in place. Some other sex toys and tubes lay free to roll around about him, but they were no threat, and the thought of a dildo hitting Ruri randomly as he tumbled in the dark amused them immensely.

At that, with the comfortable knowledge that no one would pry too deeply into the bloody mess made on the bed and the bloody bed clothes left in the bath, they – each carrying one side of the suitcase, for though Ruri weighed scarcely 25 kilograms without his limbs, they wished to share the burden between them – made their way out of the hotel. Inconspicuous they were not, but little did that matter.

As they appeared anew outside of the hotel, Takayuki looked at his watch. 12:34. Just in time. They began walking towards the railway station, and soon they passed by the hotel where they had stayed the night. There were not so many people outside, a drab Sunday like this, so relatively few people stared at them as they made their way across the wide road up to the station steps. The wind was biting cold but fresh, invigorating. At the top of the steps, Takayuki stopped and turned around, looking back on the city they were now departing. Grey clouds passed quickly in the sky, colourful cars and buses in a mess against a backdrop of tall buildings lining the major streets, and somewhere down the wide road a glimpse of ocean. Through the snarled traffic mess as a light turned green passed a tram to the smooth music of electric motors. Air conditioning systems on the roofs of tall buildings pumped out lines of heated air, leaving vapour trails swivelling in the wind, flurrying spirals and whirls. It was a fine day, indeed. They entered the station.