by Jamie Lake
At that moment, a gorgeous blonde girl around Peter’s age emerged from the office around the corner, wearing a stunning turquoise pantsuit and diamond earrings. She set a cast iron teapot and two cups down on the coffee table, and smiled genuinely at Peter.
“Laurie,” said Mr. Hashimoto, “please leave and tell the rest of the staff they may leave for the evening.”
“Yes, sir,” and her heels clicked down the hall toward the office and out the double doors. Once they clicked shut, Hashimoto returned his gaze to Peter’s eyes.
“So, Peter. May I call you ‘Peter’?” Hashimoto asked, pouring himself a cup of deep red tea from a cast iron pot. He pushed it toward Peter, and poured his own.
“Of course, Mr. Hashimoto. May I call you ‘Ken’?”
Hashimoto paused for a second then responded, “Mr. Hashimoto is more suitable.”
Peter swallowed the scalding hot tea in shock. That was not what he was
expecting. “Absolutely.”
“Good,” Hashimoto said. Then he smirked. “I hate my first name.”
“Oh,” Peter smiled back. “Why’s that?”
“It sounds so old. I’ve been meaning to change it for years, but I guess I never got around to it. So, Peter, tell me about yourself: your likes, dislikes, interests,” he said, as a warm smile curved his lips. He looked at Peter’s masculine figure and sipped from his teacup. “Unless that’s too personal.”
“No, not at all,” Peter said, conjuring up courage he didn’t have. “I’m here to make you happy, Mr. Hashimoto. Whatever pleases you.”
“I like being pleased,” Mr. Hashimoto answered, blowing on the tea, “But I’m a Buddhist. So you know what turns me on even more?”
“What’s that?” Peter asked, as he parted his legs slightly.
“Pleasing others,” Hashimoto said directly, his eyebrows arching. He winked at Peter, and Peter wasn’t sure how to react.
It was the way he said it, so direct, so uncompromising, that caused Peter to become aroused. For a moment, Peter forgot he had someone else. He was going to have to keep his guard up with this one, Peter thought to himself, or Mr. Hashimoto might influence him to go places he ought not to go.
“Shall we?” Mr. Hashimoto said, as he rose. Peter nodded and followed the tall Japanese man behind a bar and into a room with stucco walls and a small fountain which was bubbling into a wide terracotta basin full of succulent plants. Nearby was a massage table, the largest Peter had ever seen. All around the table were candles and scented oils.
“Well?” Hashimoto said, looking at Peter, “How do you like it?”
“They did a nice job setting it up. So, tell me, Mr. Hashimoto. Do you prefer it soft and sensual or hard?” Peter said, emphasizing the word hard.
“I think there might be some misunderstanding,” Hashimoto said plainly.
“Sir?” Peter said, tilting his head confused.
“It’s my pleasure to please,” Hashimoto said, dropping his robe. Peter almost gasped at how perfect and sculpted his body looked; the light and shadows of the flickering candles lit his sculpted frame in such a way that he looked like an image poured from molten gold.
“Do you mean?” Peter started to ask.
“Please, lie face up on the table,” Hashimoto said, moving closer as he unbuttoned Peter’s shirt one. Button. At. A Time. “You see, Peter, for me, there’s more happiness in giving than there is in receiving.”
And with that, he yanked Peter’s shirt off with such a thrust, it made Peter blush furiously and gasp.
Hashimoto's eyes did all the walking, examining the curvature in Peter’s neck, his flat, toned stomach, the way his pink nipples were hardening from the cool air conditioning; or perhaps it was Hashimoto’s mint-scented breath that he felt feather away at his chest that was doing it.
Hashimoto’s hands traced along his chest, flicking his nipples.
He crooned in pleasure, unable to keep from it. He felt so aroused, but ashamed at the same time. His touch became more gentle, soft. He smoothed his hands down his sides and grasped him by the hips. Hashimoto continued to undress him, pulling off his slacks and letting them puddle at his feet. He then took his hand sweetly and led him to the table. He patted the surface, indicating he should get on the table.
Peter did as he bade him to, lying on his back. His breath came in quick, nervous little pants. He didn’t know what he was going to do or if he should even go along with this. But then he thought of what Chip said. He had to lay low. Go along with things. He trembled. Not that Chip would probably want him to be doing this: but he definitely wouldn’t want Peter to make an issue, walk off, and rock the boat.
Hashimoto smoothed massage oil on his slender hands, warming it between his palms. He started at his feet, rubbing them gently, applying pressure to the heels of his feet with his thumbs. It sent waves of pleasure up his legs to his stomach. He bit his bottom lip to keep from moaning. He tried not to tense up, but he was so nervous.
He made a soothing sound as he continued the massage. “Come now, relax. You have too much tension, too much stress.”
He was right, he realized. He’d been so stressed out and unhappy since this whole mess began. “I don’t know how to relax,” he confessed, feeling ashamed.
Nodding, he continued to rub his feet, hitting all the right pressure points. He spent a long time on each area, concentrating on getting out all the kinks, focusing his attention on spots that would relax him. He smoothed his hands up to his calves. Peter hissed through his teeth at the sensual feel of his oiled hands on his skin.
“You carry with you a lot of sadness. Hurt. You won’t let things go.” His voice was stern, but soft. He sounded as though he understood everything he was going through.
“Well, things ... are ... really messed up in my life right now.” He didn’t like admitting things like that, but he felt safe with this man. He felt as though he could tell him all of his secrets.
Mr. Hashimoto climbed up on the table, between his legs. His long, slender fingers went up his thighs, massaging them firmly, his thumbs skimming his inner thighs, making Peter groan. He was so hard now, his cock throbbing, the tip beading with pre-cum. It had been awhile since he'd had sex, and he really needed release. The tension was in every muscle in his body. Then, Hashimoto was on top of him. The other man was as hard as he was, and Peter could feel him against his thigh as Hashimoto's fingers skimmed up his sides and over his stomach again. He twitched, jumping slightly at the touch, uncomfortable with how turned on he was.
"Relax. I am not going to hurt you or do anything to you that you don't want done. You need to let it go. Let it out. Let go of all of your sadness and hurt. Underneath all the confusion, you are pure. Strong. Invincible. Just remember it for a second, and you’ll be able to conquer all your obstacles. "
Peter wanted to ask him how he knew about all of that. How did he know that Peter was hurting and afraid? Without meaning to, his eyes filled with tears as Hashimoto's hands rubbed his biceps. Their chests were pressed together and now Peter could feel the slick, smooth slide of Hashimoto's cock against his own. He didn't even bother trying to hide his moan now.
He just wanted to get fucked now. A small voice in his head told him he couldn't do that to Chip, but this encounter was driving him crazy. He squirmed as Hashimoto's hands moved to his shoulders. The man's minty breath washed over his neck and face. Peter shivered.
"There. Let it out. Let it go. Be at peace." Hashimoto's voice was stern, but oh so quiet and gentle. As the other man's fingers massaged into his tense neck, tears sprang into Peter's eyes.
He didn't tell Hashimoto what was bothering him. He didn't spill his secrets or complain about his predicament. He didn't need to. Hashimoto stroked his face gently, giving him a scalp and facial massage, ignoring the tears, letting Peter let it all go on his own. Softly, gently, Hashimoto rocked his hips against Peter's, sliding his cock against his. Peter melted into his hands, his hips, and he let the man’s whole bo
dy caress and ease his own.
"You must be true to your intuition, Peter," Hashimoto said. "You must seek the truth and give the truth equally," Hashimoto's advice struck a chord with him and his tears dried. He felt calm and strong ... and terribly turned on.
“Stop fearing that you aren’t enough. That you don’t have enough. Stop thinking that you don’t have the power to make tough choices. All the fear and terror that surrounds you should only remind you of how strong you must be to tempt such horrible demons.”
Hashimoto nodded at him, giving him a soft smile as his hand dipped between their two bodies. He began to stroke them both, his fingers curled around both of their cocks. Peter bucked his hips up against Hashimoto, lost to pleasure and the release of all his pent-up feelings. His eyes rolled back and he moaned, over and over.
He could feel his release curl and tighten in his balls, tingling at the base of his spine. Hashimoto came first in great, hot spurts of his sticky white cum. He shot all over Peter's stomach, but he didn't stop. He kept jerking them off with his slick, oily fingers.
With a great, almost joyful cry, Peter came.
Peter had never felt such pleasure as he ejaculated, his body convulsing, every pore of his skin tingling with pleasure. He felt all of his strain and anxiety burst and deflate and pour out of him at the same moment that incredible bliss filled his whole body. Relief, ease, and contentment filled his heart. He laughed softly and took a deep breath, and felt like he was touching the sky. He could hear Hashimoto leaving then, entering a few minutes later with a small pail and hot tea pot. He pulled out a hot steaming cloth and wrung it out a few times, the heat not bothering him a bit.
The first contact of the heat made Peter convulse again, but after, it cooled, and Hashimoto bathed Peter from head to toe, and he began to relax.
“Mr. Hashimoto,” Peter tried to say, barely able to catch his breath, “I ... I ... never ...”
“I know,” Hashimoto smiled. “It was all my pleasure, believe me. I loved seeing you react like that. It was a big turn on.”
“Thank ... Thank you,” Peter said, not knowing how else to put it.
“I put your tip on the table in front of the door when you’re ready. Feel free to rest here until you are,” he said.
“No, I ... thank you. I should be tipping you,” Peter smiled.
Hashimoto smiled back, placing the used towel back in the pail with a thud. “Have a nice evening, Peter.”
And with that, he left the room.
Peter lay there for a long time on his right side, feeling his breath move in and out. Release: that’s what he felt as if it were healing him, strengthening him for what was to come. Hashimoto said he’d need to be strong. How could he be strong? How could he follow that advice when he had so much to face?
CHAPTER 12
For whatever reason, Peter knew he should feel guilty, but he didn’t. He felt rested, he felt healed. It was as if Hashimoto could see, feel, what he’d been feeling all these weeks. He was like an angel from heaven. As Peter walked out of the lobby, he pulled the envelope that Hashimoto had left him out and opened it. What he saw made his jaw drop. Wads of Benjamins. He counted ten, twenty, thirty, forty hundred dollar bills. Four thousand dollars.
Peter didn’t know what to say. It was beyond generous: it was insane. For everything Hashimoto had given him, Peter felt like he should be the one who paid him. Were all Buddhists like this? Just as he was about to step into the elevator, Tony stepped out of one.
“Hey,” Tony said with a suspicious smile.
“Hey,” Peter said nervously, before biting down on his bottom lip.
“Perfect timing,” Tony said, but Peter knew it was a lie. He was sure that he’d watched him coming out on the security cameras, and if it weren’t illegal to do so in the hotel room, he knew that he would have watched him in there too. Maybe he did anyway. The law didn't seem like something Tony respected much.
“So, how’d it go?” Tony asked, putting the back of his ringed hand to Peter’s cheek.
“Oh, great. I mean fine.” Peter gave him a nervous smile, the corners of his lips twitching.
“Which one was it? Great or fine.” Tony asked, drilling a hole through him with his intense look.
“Great. Definitely great,” Peter answered flustered.
“How great?” Tony asked, a note of suspicion in his voice.
“Oh, he seemed pleased. I mean, we didn’t ... go all the way, if that’s what you’re asking,” Peter said, pressing the elevator button again, really anxious to get out of there.
Tony seemed relieved, “Good. I mean, I knew you wouldn’t have to.”
Peter conjured up a half-smile. He just wanted to get the hell out of the elevator and home. He wanted to see Chip. He wanted to get away from all of this.
“And did he leave you a nice tip?” Tony asked, just as the door opened. Peter stepped out until Tony yanked him back in roughly by the arm. Peter squeaked in surprise.
“Um, yeah, it was very generous,” Peter said, barely able to look at him.
“And what do you say?” Tony said, his wicked smile spread across his face like molasses.
Peter was about to answer when his phone rang. He didn’t care who it was; he just answered it and held up his finger for Tony to wait. “Hello?”
“Peter, I need to talk to you,” Chip said on the other end. Shit, Peter thought. Chip may have had the worst timing ever.
Peter looked around nervously, “Um, can I call you back? I’m a little busy.”
“Why? Is he there?” Chip asked.
“Sure, how about in a couple of hours,” Peter said, forcing a smile and hoping that Tony wasn’t catching on.
“I need you to get home now,” Chip said firmly.
Flustered and nervous, he got agitated and said, “Can’t it wait? I have a few things to ...”
“Peter, Anton ... he’s dead.”
The phone almost slipped out of Peter’s hand as the blood rushed from his face. He felt dizzy and weak. Terrified. Surely not. Surely this was some sort of sick joke. Anton couldn't be dead. He just couldn't.
“If he’s near you, don’t say a word. Just … just get here.” Chip sounded shaken, and worried. Hearing Chip sound so upset and with the horrible news he'd just given him, Peter felt even more terrified.
Peter nodded. Hanging up, he let his hand stuff the phone in the pocket. He tried to act casual.
“Who was that?” Tony said, loud enough to startle him out of shock.
“N-n-nobody. Just a colleague at the school.” He shook all over.
“A colleague?” Tony repeatedly doubtfully.
“One of the students has been misbehaving lately and he wanted my advice. I'd better head out. Thank you for everything. Talk to you later, okay?” Peter said, not leaving him a chance to respond properly.
Peter fled, and he didn't look back. Once the elevator popped open, he nearly ran to get out of there. The blood rushed in his ears and Peter hoped that Tony wasn’t following.
TO BE CONTINUED --
FOR THE NEXT BOOK IN THE SERIES, GO HERE: http://bitly.com/JAMIELAKEBOOKS
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Other books by Jamie Lake
(click below to view)
Marked for Love Book 1
Marked for Love Book 2
Bad Boy: Naughty at Night Book 1
Bad Boy: Naughty at Night Book 2
Stay Always Book 1
Boyfriend for Rent Book 1
The Trainer Book 2
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