The following is fiction. Any resemblance between this story or any character in it with the real world is a wild coincidence and damn unlikely. Thanks to Parker , Marlissa , Downing Street , Sinner , Orestes and Michelle who loves to . You guys write great stuff.

This is a mistake. I never should have taken their money but it was so much money. When was I going to make $1 million in one year ever again? I was so sure I was doing the right thing. Now look at me.

Let me back up. Eighteen months ago, I was the newest partner in a major New York law firm, only 26 years old, one of the best and brightest. I was drop dead gorgeous but in a professional way. I knew it too knew. In college and law school, I kept getting offers to model. I turned them all down because the real money, the big money is in international trade. So I spent all my time at fund- raisers for politicians hosted by Far East business types. Korea, Singapore, Hong Kong, Japan—especially Japan. So closed, so male dominated, so very much money to be made there.

I had noticed something that I was sure I could use. Of course, when I went to one of these trade things, I was dressed like a movie star—only the very best designer gowns, exactly the right accessories. Everyone looked but Japanese men stared. They ignored the other women but they talked with me. They paid attention when I said I was becoming an attorney. Some gave me their business cards and told me to call them when I was in practice. When I did, they hired me. Small matters, true, but unlike most new lawyers, I walked into my new firm with clients.

I made partner in 18 months. Fastest ever, male or female. In fact, I was asked if I was interested in opening one of a series of Far East offices. It looked like Japan was taken but I had my choice of Thailand, Korea or Bhuttan. No way was I taking a backwater. I called Seiji Herakini, president of OTTII Industries, and explained what was happening. Seiji is a major client. He wanted me in Japan and expected the firm to give him what he wanted, including 100% of my time if that’s what he needed. In short order, I was in Kobe with the firm’s managing partners to meet with Seiji and firm up our planned services for his company.

Seiji was having trouble establishing a modern image for his old line specialty steel facrication business. He needed an attorney who would be part of the team effort to break the mold and create a new identity that attracted the younger purchasing managers in his customer base. I had to be totally on board with that concept and the firm had to recognize that I was putting OTTII before it and myself to get this done. I was very enthusiastic and grudgingly the old fools running the place agreed. Well, I thought then that they were fools. Now, they look pretty smart. I had good reason to be enthusiastic. Seiji had given me a bonus agreement that paid me $400,0000 after six months and $1 million after a year if I met all goals. I did have some reservations when I read the bonus goals. It struck me as odd that I would have to (1) learn to speak Japanese in the manner OTTII wished, (2) learn Japanese etiquette the same way, (3) accept, maintain and wear the wardrobe supplied (at no cost) by OTTII, (4) comply with OTTII’s exercise schedule, (5) adhere to the personal appearance (hair, makeup, jewelry, perfume, etc.) designed for me by OTTII and (5) be available at OTTII’s convenience for publicity video, photography, personal appearances, interviews and the like. I would be paid an additional $10,000 to license my personal likeness to OTTII.

When I asked, Seiji’s PR assistant explained that the Company intended to put its most noteworthy people out in the public’s eye, explaining OTTII’s commitment to change. They wanted to be able to exploit those executives who made the greatest impact. I figured how can I lose. I get better than $1 million for doing what the legal work they want and letting them take my picture while I do. With any luck, I would be a celebrity when I came home.

After two weeks, I was worried. No one gave me any work. I sat in my office and waited for something to happen. Nothing did. I was getting more and more nervous when a Miss Sanjuko introduced herself. She apologized for the delay but everyone was so busy. She was my designated OTTII mentor. I read a letter from Seiji explaining that Suki (her first name) spoke with his voice. I was to follow all of her directions faithfully, immediately and without question. I imagined Seiji in a military uniform giving orders. I made a small joke to that effect but either Suki found it not funny or she had no time for humor.

Tea arrived. I thought it was too bitter but Suki insisted we have some to start our relationship. I finished mine but now, I can’t remember if Suki ever really touched hers. She explained that we had several appointments that afternoon. I got up to leave when Suki stopped me to say that I would have to change into the clothing in the conference room.

In a few moments, I was looking at myself in the mirror. I felt a little dizzy, disoriented is the better word. I was dressed in a most revealing micro-mini. The jacket was a little neon-blue bolero over a white, sleeveless, ribbed turtleneck. My stockings were white with matching blue platform pumps, sporting five inch heels. Suki pulled my hair back and under a blue satin baseball cap, my long blonde ponytail bouncing away. There were OTTII logos on the cap, on my jacket buttons, even on my shoes. My hands felt awkward as we winded down a crowded street in the Ginza. I usually carried a briefcase. We stopped at a nail salon and soon I had one-inch tips with white, blue and black swirls. A gold OTTII logo was crazy-glued dead center in the middle of every nail. Then, I was sitting in a different salon’s chair, getting my hair cut.

I have very thick, dirty blonde hair. I curl it because its so straight. First, they washed and conditioned my hair twice and parted in in the middle. Using a laser (I swear to God, a real laser), they trimmed my hair mid-way between down my shoulder blades. I had to wear special glasses when they did my new bangs—heavy but only to mid-forehead. Using a little penlight laser, they trimmed my eyebrows into skinny arches. As we left, the receptionist handed me a pair of sunglasses. Suki indicated that I should try them on. The lenses were very oversized and tinted a light blue. I thought that I could see images, words very faintly in the lenses. The obligatory OTTII logo was on the lower corner of my right eye and where the white and black frames came together. The rest of the morning became a blur. We stopped at a make-up shop, and there were accessories and scarves and gloves. I was carrying a big square black patent pocketbook done up to imitate a briefcase. It had the OTTII logo as the clasp.

I caught my breath when we arrived at the Japanese tutor. She was at least 70 years old and nasty. Hokimini-San would going to teach me Japanese manners and language. I would learn. I would be punished if I was stupid or lazy. No lie, that’s how she talked. Her English was perfect, if too stiff but she was pretty stiff herself. We began with walking.

Take little steps. Hands at your sides, wrists forward as you walk. Hips swing all the time. Chin up. Smile. Lean a little forward. Let your rear stick out in back a little. Whenever you talk, touch you mouth. Whenever you meet a man, look down first, smile, look up without lifting your head, smile again, touch your mouth and say hello.

All the time, I had to repeat the things she was teaching me to say. Homikini-San explained that Japanese was a very old language. It had three levels—the honorific for speaking to Buddhist priests and the Royal family, formal for speaking to one’s betters and the vulgar, the language of business. I would learn the vulgar. It contained many expressions that had evolved over time. Expressions that taken alone might be considered offensive but now were perfectly acceptable, indeed required.

I walked across the room to a full size photo of a man and said (in vulgar Japanese) “It is good to see you again, Mr. Smith. I hope that looking at my sexy body gives you a big erection.” When I balked at saying something so humiliating, I found myself on her front steps on a busy street, wearing a dunce cap and repeating “I am a very stupid and lazy female. I hope my sexy body gives the men who see me big erections so that I will not be entirely useless.” I was so embarrassed whenever anyone looked at me. At the time, I didn’t object; it seemed normal somehow.

Sitting at a meeting, someone finishes their coffee, I get up. I shimmy to the man’s place and lean forward. I do not bend my legs. I take the man’s empty cup and say “I do not understand the important things that you men discuss and I will make myself more useful by filling your coffee cup. I hope you like the way my tastelessly short skirt shows off my sexy body.”

Then we came to giggling. Homikini-San says that I must learn to giggle. Never laugh. I must giggle to show that I approve of what men are saying. I can show that I do not understand, that I will do as told, that I am finished a task, that I want men to look at me and find me sexy, that I am awaiting their next wish. I never giggled in my life. Well, maybe when I was like five and in kindergarten. Have you ever walked up to a complete stranger (male, of course) on a public street ... you come close, taking mincing steps in your five inch heels.. Your hips swing as you go ... you look down at the man’s shoes and count to two, look up under batting lashes ... smile, touch your lower lip with your right hand ... hold your left hand out sightly, wrist up, begging ...<giggle> “Sir, I am very silly and I do not know where I am.” <giggle> “Can you tell me how to go to my work? I will be punished when I get there because I am so stupid and lazy.” <sigh, giggle> The man usually laughs I hated that they were allowed to laugh when I could not. “I see you work for OTTII. A good company. You are very lucky to have such a good job.” I smile. “OTTII is the best, most modern company in the world. I do not deserve to work there but they are kind and will give a person with no good education like me a chance.” They like to ask me about America. “I come from a very dirty and degenerate city where women are rude and useless. I am so glad that I am in Japan and can act properly.”

Homikini-San would be a step behind me listening. There is always a pot of tea going. I sip a little all day. I used to feel confused a lot, spinning almost, but that settled down. If I don’t have a cup of tea every so often, I feel sick. Homikini-San was always after me. If I fudged a single insulting line, if I failed to smile at one condescending remark, I would be punished.

I followed Suki from the Mercedes to the grandstand. I could hear the sound of motors, race cars. Yesterday, she brought me to a salon that specializes in make-up. My face is very pale now and painted much like a doll’s. My hair was tinted a silvery platinum. It falls thick, silken down my back. If my hair was black, from behind you would think I was Japanese. I wished many men big erections when they saw my sexy body in my tasteless clothes. OTTII is the best company in the world. I am too stupid to understand and too lazy to deserve such a good job. I jumped up and down when OTTII cars won. And I never stopped giggling.

In the car, I told Suki that I had had enough. I had been thinking about it—or thrying to—for a while. Turning me into some sort of Japanese Barbie doll was not part of the deal. Give me my $500,000 and I was out of there. Suki explained that the firm had been required to post a $1 million bond against my performance. If I quit, the firm had to pay the million. When I transferred, I had signed an agreement with the firm that I was responsible for losses caused by my failure to adhere to the terms of my deal with OTTII and Seiji. She said that if I quit, I would be ruined for life. I had to ask her to repeat what she said because it was really complicated. I thought I got it on the third repeat and got so totally like made and I cursed. I tried to hit Suki, but she knocked me down easily.

Homikini-San took a wide wooden paddle to my ass while Suki watched and took pictures. Homikini-San took pictures of me kissing Suki’s high heeled toes. I was dressed in a way-too-tight T-shirt. My belly was bare. There were little red vinyl hot pants, white anklets and knee high white, platform soled, six inch heeled boots. I stood on a busy corner in front of a popular sushi restaurant. The restaurant’s name was on my T-shirt. I held a big poster showing the menu. “Eat at Honji’s Mountain Restaurant. The sushi is more succulent that my sexy body. Watch me while you eat and show me how big you are.” I knew what I was saying and said it all day, and the next and the next.

On Thursday, Suki noticed that I had run out of resistance, simply did not hold back. I minced about. I smiled at the men and said all the humiliating things I was told to say. I watched the men coming out and congratulated those whose buldging hard-ons were evident. I found myself at the race track in my horrible corner girl outfit. Men were drinking and smoking cigars. Suki pushed me to my knees before a young man in a dark suit. I looked up at her, confused. “Eat him,” she directed. Blindly, I fished his thickening rod out of his pants and put it in my mouth. Suki began to instruct me. When to suck him in and when to pull back. Suck hard enough to hollow your cheeks. Look into his eyes. Suki taught me what to say, how to say it. Put his hard cock against my cheek. Giggle. “Oh sir, I love the taste of your member in my mouth. It is so big that I can hardly contain it. Please let me swallow your tasty sperm. I know that I will have a big orgasm myself.” Why did I say it? I guess by now I knew that whatever Suki said was right. She was always right and I was just too silly and confused to know anything. I didn’t see her with the palm-sized digital video camera, framed to capture me only. I saw the video later. I looked like a complete slut.

After I swallowed the first man’s cum, I thanked him. Suki had me offer myself to the remaining men. I wiggled out of my hot pants while they watched. I spread my legs and rubbed myself so that they would not have to endure a dry hole. I told them how wet I was getting. In turn, I mounted them and gave each a wild, bucking ride. Suki critiqued my performance until I was exactly what she wanted, a giggling, insatiable whore. At least on video.

I sat in my room, dejected, pouting. How could this have happened to me? I was too smart to be trapped like this but I felt trapped. All my clothes, my shoes, my make up, jewelry, the shows that came over cable TV, the music I could play, what I could read—Suki picked them all. Mostly, I watched auto races. I read cheap romances. I dressed however Suki wanted me and went where she took me. I got used to the sex. I was so bored and it was the only fun in my life any more. I started to enjoy the sex. I found myself trying to look sexier that Suki had decided. On the street, I looked to see men stare at me and smiled, happy now, when they did. Lots of them had big erections, all for me.

I sat very still when Dr. Hajji, a Pakistani, did my lips and nipples. Japanese women would not do this and certainly never see a foreigner. Suki explained that I did not matter because I was not Japanese, so a foreign doctor was okay. He was cheaper and he did a lot of work for foreign girls who were not pretty enough. I am very pretty. I do not need anything done to me. I begged Suki not to do this to me but whipped my nipples until I begged to see Dr. Hajji and pleaded that Suki guide me on just what I needed to do in order to make men think I am pretty. My lips are very full now. I have D cup breasts naturally but now my nipples are very thick and jut through all of my tops. Even the leather bras.

“I am very pretty now. I can see my nipples. They are fat and men know that I always want to have sex. Men will want to put their big members in my mouth because my fat lips looks like I have a cunt on my face.” No exactly Shakepeare but repeat it in front of a mirror long enough and it grows on you.

Seiji saw me in his private conference room. I was in my newest OTTII uniform. A neon blue thong-cut unitard that came under my breasts that were covered by a skimpy white bandeau. The obligatory OTTII satin baseball hat, white boots, big glasses. Now, I wore big disc earrings made in the shape of the OTTII logo. Everything was OTTII. Even my hair. Streaks of neon blue and black had been painted in my hair. Suki had drilled me for the meeting for a week.

“Oh, Herakini-San, I am so excited to see you.” When I was a lawyer in New York, Seiji had been my close ally. I am in Japan and I have learned how wrong I am. Herakini-San is a powerful man, a demon god astride Mount Fuji. I am a stupid, lazy girl. Suki beat it in to me. I am inferior to all men. I am no attorney. I am no partner in my firm. No man wants a silly girl as a partner. Men do not respect me. They do not listen to the useless ideas that float aimlessly in my empty head. I giggle helplessly and approach Herakini-San. My feet take tiny steps. My left hand flutters like a butterfly begging for attention. The painted long nails of my right hand trace a slow arc across my lips. I look down. I did try to resist. I stopped drinking the tea and I was very sick but I was not so confused anymore. I tried to escape and Suki brought me back. She put me in a brothel and made me beg for men to please. No one wanted me. I could see their big erections. I asked to suck them. I told them I was very good. They ignored me. On the pavement by the entrance, I wiggled my hips and showed men my shaved cunt. They just laughed at me and went by. I was so excited and wet but no one would take me.

Suki took me to a photographer. Japanese love to take pictures of their women in bondage. I was dressed in ropes and leather and rubber and vinyl ... beaten, fucked, pissed on. Lots of pictures. Suki made sure that I smiled in lots of them. No escape now. Not with those pictures. Law firms don’t have women partners who pose for dirty, nasty pictures of men pissing on them as they smile and drink it down.

“Herakini-San, my tight pussy is very wet just being in your presence. Do my big nipples and sexy bottom give you a big erection?” Herekini-San laughs and claps his hands. “You have done excellent work, Suki. I particularly like her Japanese.” I do not understand but that is to be expected. Suki explains that I do not speak Japanese like a real person. I speak like the cartoon girls on the anime shows on TV that I am allowed to watch. My voice is much too high-pitched. I speak to quickly and prissily to be anything other than a silly girl. I do not know any other way to speak. What can I say?

“What is your name,” Herakini-San demands. I blush and giggle. Suki changed my name about a month ago. I still hate it. Riki. It’s a dirty joke. Riki..usually pronounced as “Lickie.” I’m a little licky girl. “My name is Riki, Herakini-San.” I pronounce my new name, as Suki prefers, saying “Lickie.” “Do you like working for OTTII, little Riki?”

“Oh yes, I love OTTII. It is the best company in the world. I would do anything for it.” Herakini-San smiled and I was not so much afraid. “That is good. You see, we have a problem. The most famous symbol of OTTII are its racing cars. People all over the world know OTTII because of its race cars. I wanted to have a special Race Queen for my race cars. I tried to hire an American girl like you but they were all disrepectful and rude. I am pleased to see that under Suki’s attentions you are well behaved.” I blushed again uneasily, not at all sure where this was going. It was so hard to concentrate.

“So I have a problem, Riki who is so helpful. You can stay and become my newest Race Queen. I will put you in many new costumes and you will be at all of the races. I will put your face all over Japan and you will be famous. Or you can leave. You know what your agreement provides. I have contacted your firm and they wish you to remain here.” Herakini-San looked at me closely. I could see his enormous erection tenting his pants. Suki reminded me that I was not smiling and hurriedly I giggled and simpered.

“I will allow you to sign a new contract replacing your present one. Our agreement has five months to run. I will cancel it and you can sign a new one. I will still pay you a million and change the term to three.” Herakini-San looked to Suki. “Tell Riki how this is better for her.” Suki made me stand on a little pedestal. I repeated what she told me to say. “This is a much better arrangement. I want to be OTTII’s new Race Queen. I want to stay. I do not want to go back to America. I will be famous and everyone will know me. My name is Riki, only Riki. Thank you to OTTII and Herakini-San for this opportunity.”

I asked what the million meant and what three was—days, months? Suki spanked me and made me sign. Even though it wasn’t true, she made say how happy I was with my new agreement. It was all on digital video. Before I was back with my teacher, that bitch Hokimini-San, a carefully edited video of my recent reeducation and new life was streaming to my old firm.

The agreement was for three years and I was paid a million yen. After taxes, the cost of new uniforms, training fees and the like, I owed OTTII about $400,000 US. The engines are roaring. It’s a very big race. I am wearing my latest uniform. It changes regularly. My new DD cup breast are molded in big, high orbs, jutting through my blue latex cropped T-shirt. White latex hot pants, thigh high boots, tall heels and thick platforms. My hair is pulled to the top of my head and comes out the hole in the top of my pretend race helmet. Logos everywhere. I carry the tray of drinks over to Herakini-San and his guests. They are all powerful men from America. They are not as smart and powerful and Herakini-San but any of them is smarter that a silly Race Queen like me.

I set down the drinks. I giggle and catch their eyes. I trail my long nails up my thighs. I touch my hard nipples and my pouting lips. I ask in Japanese “Would any of the gentlemen like me to attend to their beautiful members? I see that I have given them huge erections and it would be rude of me to not help them.” Suki translates into English. I wear earplugs under my helmet. She has turned off the sound so I do not know what she has said. I only speak cartoon Race Queen Japanese. Suki tells me that several want to use my mouth. I giggle and work my way carefully down the line. I know the next man. He seems almost afraid to use me. I beg for the honor and Suki translates. I want to run away. I do not want to be shamed this way. What will these men say tomorrow?

“Please, sir, use my mouth. I am very good and many men have told me how much they enjoyed my mouth.” I smile, near tears. Suki is watching me like a hawk. He nods and I go to work. Soon, he is thrusting his hips up and I can feel his orgasm overcoming him. I begin to buck my hips and moan as if I too am orgasming, just from the pleasure of sucking him off. Carefully, I clean him off and restore his clothing. I go to the next man and leave the managing partner of my old firm.

Tomorrow, he will tell everyone what I have become. Not just a model in Japan but a business whore. Suki has me sign papers. Some are in Japanese, some English. I cannot read them. Suki explains that I have resigned from my firm and as an attorney. I have signed powers of attorney to her that will let her sell everything I own. I have signed another paper directing that she spend all of my money on my future education. Another paper changes my name to OTTII Riki. Finally, I stand in front of two men—one Japanese and the other American. Suki makes me say that I renounce my American citizenship and ask to be a citizen of Japan. More papers are signed, by me, by them.

In another room, Suki explains. You are OTTII Riki now, only her. You are Japanese. You are a Race Queen and Herakini-San’s personal plaything. You speak only Japanese. You are a nothing girl and you will do as you are told.” I could run back to my American friends, ell them what was done to me, beg for their help. But Herakini-San would only offer them money to forget me and they would.

Now, I am OTTII Riki, the famous Japanese Race Queen. I am waiting to see the doctor. He is going to do my eyes. Not slanted in a beautiful way, a Japanese way. Big eyes like the anime, pop-eyes, staring, vacant. Then, they will start on my hips, stomach and thighs. Sculpting me. My tits are so round and full; it’s as if someone sewed big, hard balls inside them. OTTII is making me perfect like its race cars. Gleaming, a pleasure to use and drive well. If you write to OTTII, they will send you my new poster