Sayuri had never been to this part of Matsudo – she'd never had a reason. Not that it really mattered. It looked like any suburb in practically every other city in Kanto, the vast sprawl of cities that made Tokyo the biggest metropolis on Earth. She'd never been to Kansai, but guessed things were the same there.
This far from the rail station the houses were no more than two stories. Each little plywood box a little different to its neighbour, but the inhabitants living out the same take on the modern Japanese dream.
To Sayuri, it was a nightmare. Neat hedges and pristine walls marked the boundaries to lots only a fraction larger than the houses that sat on them. You could open your window and touch your neighbour's house in some of them. You wouldn't even have to lean out. Sayuri thanked, well, something, for small mercies. At least that was one advantage to having a bedroom next to the railway – your view at least extended across the tracks.
Her mother seemed to know where they were going. She'd surprised Sayuri by demonstrating that she had worked out how to use the navigation function on her cell phone. The older woman scanned the names of a laundry-house and yaki-tori joint and took a sharp left. Sayuri's battered shoe didn't quite make the turning and slipped from her foot. She had to hook back to pop it back on. That earned her another barked "Don't be so slow!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Mister Yokomoto, please accept our apologies for Sayuri's poor performance in this year. We are very ashamed." Yuko Watanabe spoke very rapidly, her hands on her knees, not able to face the teacher.
"Mrs Watanabe, please. Don't apologise. It is your daughter that should be apologising. I believe it is her own choice that her grades have suffered. I know Sayuri's type, I see it every year, and if she chooses not to work then you must understand, we teachers, and you as parents, have little choice. Other children maybe we can influence. But not Sayuri."
Yuji Yokomoto observed the girl before him. She was not that bad – class four had at least half a dozen worse. But she was impressionable. Sayuri, when she'd been a freshman, had been a diligent student. Not a genius, but conscientious and hard working and capable of adequate grades.
But then she'd fallen in with the Copacobana Sweet, a self-styled gang of black skinned, blonde-haired hell-raisers that had driven teachers to distraction since Middle School. Hence the figure before him now. At eighteen, her grades in freefall, Sayuri Watanabe had made it clear that she thought continuing her education a distant memory; somebody else's ambition. Sayuri wore her skirt ultra short: it would not have taken Yokomoto much effort to get a good look at her panties if he'd been so inclined. Her school shirt loosely tied at the waist revealed a hint of flat young stomach. Her skin was dark from weekends spent visiting Tokyo's finer tanning salons, her make up a garish mix of colors best left, in the eyes of Yokomoto, to a child's coloring box. She was a model of a manga sex doll and Yokomoto knew other teachers that would respond to such stimulation.
"But Mister Yokomoto, she will not be told what to do. What can we do? A child must learn the value of a good education."
"Yes Mrs Watanabe. They should. But children today are not like we were. What do they know of working together for the good of the country? I'm afraid that there is nothing I can do to help. Sayuri must decide for herself if she wants to apply herself in order to gain."
"Sayuri." Her mother turned to her and glared. "Apologise to Mister Yokomoto."
"Mister Yokomoto. I'm. Sorry. For all the problems. That I've caused you. Please do not worry about me."
Yokomoto did not bother responding. The girl was clearly under duress and didn't care.
"Oh Mister Yokomoto! How can I demonstrate to my daughter that she should make the most of the opportunities her father and I are willing to give?"
"Did you go to university Mrs Watanabe?" The older lady shook her head.
Yokomoto held up a bottle of cold tea, "Drink? Mrs Watanabe? Sayuri?" Both women declined.
The teacher sat back in his arm chair. "Sayuri will not understand the loss of the opportunity until it is too late. Do you have a job?"
Mrs Watanabe nodded, "I work at the local drugstore a few days a week."
"A fulfilling job is it?"
"Work is work."
"Hmm. It is and it isn't. Please excuse my rudeness, but I am sure that it is not very well paid."
"No. We are lucky that we have Sayuri's father to provide for us."
"Mr Watanabe is a good man. He works hard, I'm sure" Mr Yokomoto stood up and wandered across the room. He made a show of brushing a few motes of dust off the small shrine in the corner.
"Tell me Sayuri, would you want good grades?"
"Eh? I mean, sorry, Mister Yokomoto. How would that be possible? Sure I want good grades, but there's things to do."
"Hmm. No. You could not get good grades on your own. You don't seem to have the attitude. However I could. I'm a teacher."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, for half a million yen, perhaps there is something I could do. To improve your scores, I mean."
This time Mrs Yokomoto's joined her daughter in exclaiming. "Half a million yen?"
"What, is that too much?" asked Yokomoto disingenuously. It should be. He guessed it would be close to one month's salary for the Watanabe's.
"Yes Yokomoto. I mean Mr Yokomoto. We could not afford that. It is out of the question."
"But you'd pay it if you could then? I mean, you'd buy the grade? If money were not a problem, you would pay me?"
Sayuri looked from her mother's face to the teacher and back. Something in her mother's face said yes. For Sayuri, suddenly the idea of a fresh start flickered. An opportunity to make a break from the oppressive atmosphere of the homeroom and shoplifting in the Soko Plaza. She nodded at Mister Yokomoto.
"Yes, Mr Yokomoto," said her Mother's voice, thick with guilt. "I would pay."
Sayuri hung her head as her mother spoke. She couldn't let him see her eyes. This chance was here, so close. Her grades weren't that bad. A little lift, it might make the difference. But 500,000? Her mother would not have that kind of money.
"You see Sayuri. If your Mother had been to university, then perhaps she might have a more interesting job than she does now? I'm not one of those old types. Women should have a better place in Japan. But for people without education? Well, the fate's the same. Do you understand?"
Both Watanabe's sat still, their faces turned down as Yokomoto spoke.
"But moreover, perhaps she would have the money from such a job to allow her to pay the sum I ask, and the investment in her own education would be reinvested in yours. It would be so much more elegant, wouldn't it?" The teacher paused, looking at the mother and daughter – two attractive heads held low in shame before him.
"I am an educator. I could not possible compromise my morals for small sums, so there is nothing I can do about the asking price. You must understand. I am very sorry."
Sayuri's heart sank. It had been so close, and here it was slipping away. She looked, almost frantically, first at her mother, then Mr Yokomoto. The old man was smiling.
"But..." he began, "perhaps there's another way we could come to some arrangement."
Once again, Sayuri's emotions went into a spin. She instantly knew what was coming. Heck, it wasn't even that uncommon – friends of hers from Kanajo High had told her about one student who had been expelled for sleeping with three faculty members. Even girls in the CopaSwe were rumoured to have done it. Sayuri herself had given boys head in exchange for a perfume and make-up. Sucking a sweaty cock on the late train home had been an easy way to acquire an MP3 player too.
But this would seem too wrong – dishonest even – what about her old friend Mitsuyo who studied every evening at two cram schools after class to get grades only marginally better than Sayuri's now?.
And what would Yokomoto want in exchange for half a million yen's worth of grades?
Sayuri looked across at her mother. The last chance was that the woman would spare her – would somehow agree to find the money, or even just tell the old man to forget it. Mrs Watanabe's head was still hung low, staring at her hands in her lap. So this was it? Her own mother would sell her out? Let this old pervert strip her daughter's school uniform off and use her for his own ends, just so she could tell her friends her daughter got in to some university?
"I'll do it."
Yokomoto smiled. Sayuri froze. What had her mother just said?
"Mrs Watanabe? I'm sorry. I couldn't hear what you just said. Could you repeat it?"
"I will do what you ask. Please use me to enjoy yourself."
"Mother? What are you saying?"
"Sayuri dear, please let me offer myself to Mr Yokomoto. My body is not as young as yours, but he will find me most accommodating. Please save yourself for your husband." Sayuri's mother was being strangely calm and polite.
"Ha! Sayuri's no virgin, are you Sayu? I've seen the grafitti in the seniors' washroom." Sayuri shook her head in agreement. In light of the position she and her mother found themselves in, it barely seemed worth denying it. "Indeed, your daughter seems quite talented according to some testimony. You should be proud, perhaps, for she seems to excel in one area."
This finally raised a blush. Sayuri's cheeks felt like they would burn off. That would probably be Shota Haneda. For his strong, lovely cock Sayuri had always made a special effort and he'd always commented on it. Some dirty pricks were horrible to look at, all purple and mushy and almost worth just stuffing away so you didn't have to get too close or even look at it.
But Shota's was different. Smooth and long, Sayuri loved to take time over pleasuring it, watching it twitch and dance as she used the full range of her tricks to bring it to the brink. Best of all, Shota was not obsessed with the style of the skin flicks and didn't aim all over her face, in her hair or eyes like most other boys would do. Instead he was happy to lose himself in her mouth, flooding her welcoming tongue with his rich, gooey cum, again and again, until she could swallow it down.
Shota even tasted sweeter. Looking up, Sayuri wondered how Yokomoto would taste.
"Now that is a good idea!" Exclaimed Yokomoto, striding to his tiny kitchen. "This calls for a drink. Mrs Watanabe? Sayuri, I think you are too young. Please have a coffee."
Without asking again, Yokomoto handed Sayuri a can of cold sweet coffee and Mrs Watanabe a frosty beer. She took it and drank a long draft. Yokomoto stood in the middle of the room. There was the unmistakable tenting in his trousers that told Sayuri that Yokomoto was extremely pleased with the situation.
Sayuri tried to take stock of the situation. Her mother seemed detached, calmly removing her cardigan and setting it to one side. Sayuri herself did not know what to do. The house probably only had two or three rooms upstairs and she would be able to hear everything! The thought terrified her.
"This is a most excellent idea." The teacher repeated. "Mrs Watanabe, how could I resist the advice offered by that act of vandalism in the school toilets? To pass up such an opportunity to experience one so good at what she does. And your daughter is a fine reflection of yourself – she is a very attractive young woman. To receive pleasure from such a beauty would be a medal in a sexual career."
Yokomoto was now clearly excited: the bulge in his crotch pushed out wide. He went on, "But why have grape juice, sweet and fruity as it is, when you can have a fine wine. Mrs Watanabe, you are an elegant woman for one who has had to work so hard. I will take great pleasure in receiving your gifts.
The teacher stepped up so he stood in front of Sayuri's mother. The older lady sat on the edge of the leather sofa, her hands on her knees, folded politely as if listening to a poetry recital. She did not raise her face to meet Yokomoto's, and sat staring straight ahead, straight at the bulge in his trousers where his cock longed to be free.
Natsuo Watanabe was a good looking woman. Dressed as she was in a black skirt, white shirt and red cardigan she looked like a senior office lady. Her glossy black hair was cut just above her shoulder line and framed a proud face with an unusually long and elegant nose. Years of swimming, a childhood habit she had never left behind, gave her firm arms and legs and not a trace of fat. Yokomoto took in the sight of her legs, her toes held together in delicate tights. His cock twitched at the though of shooting his cum on her lap, watching it dribble down her leg and soak in to her nylons
"Mr Yokomoto. What do you want to do?"
"Take out my cock please, Mrs Watanabe. It longs to be free."
"Ehhh? What?" Sayuri couldn't help herself. They were going to do it here? In front of her? Impossible. She stood up to leave.
"Sayuri. Please sit down. You must stay so you can fully appreciate the sacrifice your mother is prepared to make for her only daughter. If you leave, our agreement is off." Yokomoto addressed the girl even as her mother began undoing his fly and pulling out his cock. Sayuri tried to look to her mother for support, but the woman seemed entirely focused on removing enough clothing to free her teacher's engorged prick. Reluctantly, Sayuri sat down once again.
Yokomoto sighed as the older Watanabe, with unexpected tenderness, slipped a warm hand around his cock and pulled it out, slipping his trousers off his hips. Sayuri, not wanting to look, was nonetheless transfixed. Yokomoto's cock was purple and angry. It was fat too. Not the long beauty of Shota's dick; it was a brutal tool that was going to get its price. She watched as her mother, still sat on the sofa, her knees demurely together, cupped the man's balls and gently stroked a ring formed by thumb and middle finger up and down the shaft before leaning forward, and without bidding, slipped it inside her mouth.
Yuji Yokomoto sighed as Natsuo went to work on his cock. Her left hand held his balls, applying just the right amount of pressure, one finger gently playing with the soft skin underneath, while her right drew up and down his shaft.
