Sissy's Corporate Adventures
Chapter 12
Sissy followed Mr. Muriama into this cavernous building and her head
began to whirl as she was bombarded with sights, sounds and smells that were
completely alien to her. The place had all the trappings of a madhouse with
armies of slavering old men, giggling high school girls and those persons
involved in negotiating with both groups for whatever they had to offer in
exchange for what they wanted. This was definitely not a tourist attraction. To
most of the Japanese population this was just another trading establishment,
well known as a source for "mad" money for the young ladies preparing for the
entrance exams that would determine their lot in life.
Acceptance into one of the tremendously oversubscribed universities
offered a ticket to a better life for those fortunate enough to be allowed entry
and to have the endurance and desire to survive the rigorous weeding out process
that made graduation from these places so very difficult. To those older men
with dreams that had been dashed and trampled into the dirt, it was a way to
restore their youth and energy to some degree, provided they had the financial
wherewithal to indulge their fantasies. It was clearly out of bounds for the
average tourist and only of interest to those with extremely specialized tastes
when it came to sexual titillation.
The blonde airhead followed her mentor down one narrow aisle and over to
another. No matter where they went, there seemed to be high school girls in
various stages of undress. They in turn were surrounded by their companions who
seemed to be there to provide some type of shield against the hordes of dirty
old men roaming the floor seeking out their prey. Interspersed between these two
groups were the negotiators, men interested in only one thing, evaluating the
underwear that was being offered straight from the sweaty bodies of these teen
temptresses. Panties were the most popular item, and those rating them sniffed
the garments, even tasted them to determine the amount of interesting scents and
stains that were being left behind by their former owners. Urine and fecal
stains were a basic requirement, but girls leaving behind traces of menstral
blood had a product that commanded the highest bids by the negotiators.
The appearance of the girls providing this product had absolutely
nothing to do with the prices they received. They were selling the stuff of
dreams, fantasies ready made for the customers who doted on this kind of
stimulation to revive their youth and regain their virility, if but for only a
moment. Sissy was stunned to see the activity surrounding this pimply faced,
flat chested, plump girl who couldn't have been more than fifteen, wearing only
her shoes and stockings with a tampon string hanging from her fat lipped vulva.
Her panties were stained with sweat from their elastic top to the crotch.
Superimposed over this base coating were stains associated with her bowel
movement on the seat and a mixture of menstral blood and urine bedecking the
crotch. The man attempting to buy this top of the line fetish item was sweating
profusely as he made hand symbols indicating his price, only to be rebuffed by
this cagey teenager, a veteran of bura seru bargaining.
Mr. Muriama did not appear too interested in underwear, and the sight of
so much undressed teenaged flesh was insufficient to deter him from his
objective which was to be found towards the rear portion of the store. Sissy on
the other hand was totally fascinated by this bizarre arena and its occupants.
Strange as it may seem, she was not attracting very much attention from those
involved in this business of buying and selling used teenage female underwear.
The blonde had developed a mechanism that allowed her to block the scrutiny that
was usually applied by almost all men and quite a few women as well wherever she
went. She felt a bit disoriented in this place where she was not drawing much
attention at all. Coming right after her experience riding the subway, it came
as a big shock. This was a very strange land and getting stranger by the minute.
When Sissy got her bearings once more, she found that she had become
separated from Mr. Muriama. The teen found herself in an area where dangling
from racks all around her were girls' clothing; not just any kind of clothing;
this was most odd. Upon closer examination she found herself surrounded by row
upon row of skirts and jackets, grouped by color, pattern and insignia. It
dawned on her that she was looking at high school uniforms. She recalled that
the girls not selling their underwear were attired in uniforms such as these.
Sissy wandered about for perhaps a few minutes examining this strange gallery of
hanging uniforms. Was this what Mr. Muriama was seeking? Sissy decided to see if
she could locate the translator, and so she began to walk from one aisle to
another calling out his name. "I'm right here behind you." Mr. Muriama's words
nearly made Sissy wet her panties since she realized that he had been behind her
the whole time. She turned to him to discover he was smiling and beckoning for
her to approach.
"Find your size and then try it on. I've been instructed to make sure
that you have a uniform that fits properly; that's the only way to make sure
since these are not arranged by size." Sissy had no idea who or why, but she
could sense that whoever gave this order to Mr. Muriama was most important based
on the translator's attitude and the way his voice quivered when he spoke. So
she began wandering about the aisles picking up one outfit after another and
holding them against her chest to get a feel for whether they might be a proper
fit. Although Sissy was only an inch or so taller than the average American
teen, she was considered quite tall in the land of the rising sun when compared
to the average woman.
Finally Sissy selected one that appeared that it might be a good fit.
Naturally she looked around for a dressing room and found none. 'Don't dally,
take off your dress and put this uniform on and let me see you in it."
Mr.Muriama hissed. Sissy complied, giving her mentor a good look at her fabulous
body barely covered by the snug fitting bikini panties, the ones with the little
cat on the crotch, and the demi bra that presented rather than supported her
tweeners. She couldn't help but notice that there was some drool coming from the
corner of her companion's mouth and a bulge was developing in his trousers. She
wrapped the skirt around her hips to discover that it was much too large. She
shrugged and put the uniform back on the rack. Mr. Muriama, who had offered to
hold her dress while she changed, refused to let her put it on, arguing that it
would take too much time. Sissy suspected there was more to it than that, but
made no objection.
She moved down the aisle and then turned to the left and stopped
abruptly, automatically putting up her hands to shield her tweeners from the
staring eyes of the three old Japanese men who blocked her path. Mr. Muriama
shouted at the trio in Japanese, but they showed no interest in doing whatever
he asked, continuing to ogle the half naked blonde bombshell. Sissy tried to get
behind her mentor, but there wasn't enough room in the narrow aisles to
accomplish this. So she began to back away from the group in hopes that they'd
soon get discouraged and go their way. Her new fan club proved to be made of
sterner stuff, moving in concert as she and Mr. Muriama backed down the aisle.
It was the translator who encountered the next group, backing into them
as they blocked his passage. Sissy turned and screamed as she saw another bunch
of slavering old men cutting off their exit. Once more a stream of angry words
in Japanese came from her escort, and as before, this growing group of onlookers
gave no hint that they understood or wanted to comply with whatever he had told
them. It was Sissy who took some independent action, hopping up onto a table
that made up the aisle, hoping that this might prove to be a means to escape
this bunch of oldsters. She was sure that in an open field, or what passed for
one in this huge warehouse, she could easily outdistance them. However, even
with this new perspective, the girl was unable to see a clear path that would
lead her from this area of the store.
It was then that Sissy's synapses which normally fired in a pattern that
could only be described as chaotic, had an honest to goodness bright idea, a
victory for randomness. She shouted for Mr. Muriama to grab some of the school
uniforms and hand them up to her so she could cover herself. It took him a few
minutes to get through the growing mob of perverts and return, carrying at least
a half dozen uniforms which he held up for Sissy to take. The teen had held off
the group, which now numbered at least a dozen, by giving them a few of her
special moves that she learned by watching one of the televised teenage dance
shows that were one of her favorite staples for intellectual stimulation.
The men were in shock, some wiping their foreheads with snot bedecked
handkerchiefs, others rubbing their crotches and a few merely drooling
contentedly at the sight of this gyrating, half naked teen with those enormous
boobs that bounced and jounced with every movement she made. The legend of Sissy
had begun to develop in this cavern of senile lust and her fame would spread
quickly as the old perverts' underground picked up and distributed the story of
this blonde goddess who had descended from the skies like the tears of Amaterasu
which had created Japan.
By the time Sissy tried on the first uniform, a very bad fit, the crowd
had reached perhaps twenty men and was growing rapidly as word spread about this
half naked bonde teen from the West who had appeared from thin air in the
uniform section of this bura seru shop. With each unsuccessful attempt to find
something that fit her extremely well proportioned body the murmurs from the
throng of oldsters now acted as a magnet for every one of their peers who
attempted to swarm into the narrow aisles and get a look at this vision of
blonde loveliness dressing and undressing as they gawked and gasped. As luck
would have it, the second batch of uniforms that her companion brought yielded a
skirt and jacket ensemble that fit her rather well, not perfectly since her
outstanding breasts still sort of spilled from the jacket, but it was ideal as
far as her adoring audience was concerned. It proved much easier for her to find
a pair of shoes and high socks that fit.
At Mr. Muriama's insistence Sissy kept the uniform on and climbed down
from the table looking like some old pervert's walking wet dream, which in truth
was what she was. Her adoring fans parted like the sea to allow this goddess to
pass and return to the heavens from whence she came. A few of the more daring
members of the throng reached out to touch her uniform. Those that did swore on
their death beds that they never had washed the hand that made the contact.
By the time they reached one of the clerks responsible for pricing and
collecting payment for the uniform, pandemonium had broken loose in the store.
Many of the high school girls had gathered up their clothing and began fleeing
from the store as the crush of oldsters around Sissy and Mr. Muriama began to
overwhelm all in their path. When the translator pulled out this silvery credit
card with the imprint of the Hashifumoto logo on it the clerk began to grovel as
only the Japanese can when in the presence of someone from the clouds where the
zaibatsu lived. Negotiations were quick and one sided; Mr. Muriama made an offer
and the clerk happily accepted it. He and his uniformed companion made their way
to the store's entrance, passing through Sissy's adoring fans who bowed deeply
as she swept by, escorted by the translator who had just reached the pinnacle of
his drab life. However its memory would sustain him for the rest of his days and
make existing a much more palatable experience.
( To be continued )
