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Simian massage

by BRK

Danny, a cold and cocky Yukuza enforcer, is ordered to take care of a double-dealing masseur—only to find himself under magical attack.

5,462 words Added Nov 2023 3,789 views 5.0 stars (11 votes)

You may be looking for the following similarly named story: Simon says by BRK.

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Danny was doing lat pulldowns in his home gym when he got the call, all but naked apart from a pair of tight black shorts. Because the weight machine was facing that way he was looking out over a sunlit San Francisco and the still, dark ocean beyond, basking under an endless blue sky that looked casually, all thanks to the plate glass windows lining his swank but empty high-rise apartment; but he was too focused to enjoy the view. Strength was a necessity—that much had been drilled into him since before he even knew the word Yakuza, or understood its dominion over him and his fate.

Strength was necessary, and, he later discovered, so was beauty. Danny was sharp-featured and coldly handsome, tall even by American standards, and blessedly well-proportioned in a way that Danny had learned how to improve and augment, like the crafting of a fine work of art with chisels, patience, and an eye for detail. Men found him pleasing—and appetite always meant advantage.

He let go of the pulldown bar and lowered his arms to rest at ready in his lap, registering the burn in his lats with approval as he frowned at the phone buzzing impertinently away on the small table next to the weight machine. “Unknown Number,” it said. Danny grimaced. Chances were it was his lieutenant, which meant he had to answer. Aiko, his uncle and direct superior in the organization, was a raving paranoid and never had the same phone number for long. He was a wicked poker player, though. Sometimes, flaws were also advantages.

Danny pressed the Bluetooth receiver in his ear to take the call. “Ishida,” he said, his tone flat. He grabbed the nearby towel and started wiping the beads of sweat off his rippling dragon-tattooed shoulders and arms as he waited to be told what this was about.

Sure enough, it was Aiko. “It’s been confirmed,” his uncle said without preamble. “You’re to make contact today at the hothouse. Bring a gift from the Mahoutsukai.” With that, the phone went dark—Aiko had disconnected.

Danny tsked. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been asked to speak in Aiko’s presence. His uncle might as well have inducted a mute as his enforcer. Still, it was a system that worked, for now. It was just as well. Danny never said anything he didn’t mean. Everyone knew his words were like vows. Most importantly, he knew that.

He considered his mission. His meeting was with the young masseur, Yuki, at the notorious “happy endings” massage parlor near southern edge of Hunter’s Point—”hothouse” being Aiko’s entirely unnecessary code for such establishments, Danny didn’t know why. The masseur, a high-energy, limber-looking young man of mixed Japanese and American ancestry Danny had only met once, had been feeding his boss useful information about a rival gang for several months now; but after a few recent mishaps Aiko, never very trustful of outsiders, had started wondering if Yuki was double-dealing. There were those who would pay to ensure Aiko heard what they wanted him to hear, and Danny was confident the flamboyant masseur had been less than discreet about his side-hustle with a certain “chivalrous organization.”

Evidently Aiko was now satisfied that Yuki was the problem. Danny was to “make contact”—which he took to mean that he was to lull the man into a false sense of security by submitting to a full massage, and all that that entailed, before resolving the conflict to the organization’s satisfaction.

Of course, this was a job Aiko would give only to Danny. Danny smirked to himself as he mulled this fact over in his mind. Would Aiko ever allow himself to “make contact” with a male masseur in such a fashion? Not that it would go well if he did. Though young for a boss Aiko was no prize, and if he were to enter into such an engagement neither he nor the masseur would be very pleased. Danny, on the other hand… well, this Yuki was not bad to look at. He was shortish, as Danny remembered, but packed with tight, corded muscle like a hard-training gymnast. He had a nice face, too, with fierce, dark eyes and a pathetically scraggly beard, and, of course, strong hands with long, talented fingers. The man had definitely given Danny the once-over as he’d stood behind Aiko, his fine suit and sunglasses enhancing his steel-hard allure. Danny could enjoy himself while he distracted the man with his carefully-sculpted perfection.

The “gift,” though. Why was Danny being asked to visit “The Mage” and secure a necromantic present for his mark? A knife and a suitcase were better for this sort of work. Maybe Aiko owed the Mahoutsukai a favor—or else his boss knew something Danny didn’t.

Danny stood, glancing out at the splendid urban vista only to check the time of day as he planned his operation. As he padded barefoot across thick, luxurious rugs, headed for the state-of-the-art shower in his Yakuza-owned flat, he decided he didn’t need to know the details. It wasn’t his job to strategize. He was the weapon in Aiko’s hand… for now.

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The “hothouse,” otherwise known as the Third Street Tea Room, from the outside appeared more respectable than an establishment specializing in unlicensed massage might be considered to have a right to, Danny thought as he approached from the steeply-angled side-street. It helped that the ground floor of the innocuous-looking four-story brownstone-fronted building was in fact given over to the serving and vending of a wide variety of teas, some of them hard to find even in San Francisco. The decor was authentic and the servers congenial, and the place had actually been building chatter on social media, drawing tourists who had no idea about its seamier reputation. It was only through the beads and up the back stairs that the other kind of “T” was encountered, along with a fair amount of “A.”

Danny attracted a lot of eyes as he strode through the seating area, suited up and square-jawed as he was. It was always two kinds of stares: lusty visual caresses from those who didn’t know who he was, like the tourists on the poufs and divans enjoying a bit of exotic sencha and yokan, and the watchful fear from those who did, like the matronly hostess, or could guess, like the mostly willowy staff. It was a warm spring afternoon outside, but the tea house was cool, as if the air it circulated came from far away, or from deep under the earth.

He approached the hostess, who watched over her domain from a position near the center of the room. She was dressed in a skirt and business suit, all in very dark grays with a white shirt, her hair pulled back and bound in a tight bun, and Danny couldn’t help but think that she almost looked the part of a sister in his organization. She watched him cooly. “Danny Ishida,” he said, flicking his eyes briefly toward the beaded doorway in the back, the one most visitors would assume led to VIP rooms or staff-only areas. “I have an appointment for the special, er, ‘oolong and cream.’”

To her credit the matron did not roll her eyes at the ridiculous passwords forced on her and the upstairs clients by the owners of the tea room, who possibly had watched too many movies high on too much cannabis, and Danny felt a bit of grudging respect for her. She merely tilted her head infinitesimally toward the innocuous doorway. Danny nodded and left her, passing through the beads and up the steep stairs toward the red-lit upper floors.

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The second-floor landing led to a kind of reception area, a large round room with couches and a counter at the back, like the front desk of a hotel, with doors to either side leading to the pleasure chambers. No clients cooled their heels in the lounge, and no staffer waited behind the counter. Danny was looking around for a bell to ring when his mark appeared from a hidden area behind the counter. He lifted his brows at the sight of Danny.

“There you are,” Yuki purred, his hand sliding to his firm left pec in what seemed like a habitual self-fondling gesture as he gave Danny a quick head-to-toe ogle. He was wearing tight white clothes that showed off his physique even more effectively than Danny’s suit did his. “I was hoping you’d be back.”

“Were you,” Danny said laconically, holding the masseur’s gaze, feeling unaccountably drawn to the other man. His eyes were a dark, uncanny green, he now noticed; but what really struck Danny was the predatory gleam he saw there. There was something aggressive there, even malicious, aimed toward him—or, more likely, Aiko, or the Yakuza itself. There was a grudge there, deep and self-nourishing; though the masseur seemed to approve of Danny personally, at least when it came to looks. Which most likely meant that he’d be willing to play with Danny a bit, before using him to wreak his revenge on Aiko. How had Aiko ever thought this guy a gormless patsy?

They held each other’s gaze for a long beat, then Yuki winked. “This way, handsome,” he said, pressing the buzzer to unlock the door to Danny’s left. Danny opened it, and Yuki slipped out from behind the counter and into the hallway beyond the door. Danny could now admire Yuki’s pert little butt in the thin white pants, which was nice. Intriguingly, his feet were completely bare, and Danny felt an odd impulse to somehow find out what those toes would taste like in his mouth.

The room Yuki led him to was simple and mostly unfurnished, with canary-yellow walls and a sky-blue massage table. A large mirror occupied much of one wall. Daylight filtered in from a side window hidden behind gauzy curtains, along with the distant sounds of street traffic from the busy roads around. There were a couple of rattan chairs in one corner, he noticed, and an empty coat tree for clients to hang their clothing on. A table with drawers stood to one side, a small stack of white towels resting atop it, waiting to be used.

“Why don’t you get more comfortable?” Yuki suggested, leaning against the massage table to watch.

Danny found himself approving of Yuki’s naked voyeurism. He lifted an eyebrow but said nothing, knowing from long experience how well silence worked for him as a part of his hard-man sex appeal. Instead he got to work removing his expensive suit, just for Yuki. When he pulled off his shirt, exposing the intricately-colored dragon wrapping around his back, shoulders, and arms, Yuki gave a sharp intake of breath. “You like him?” Danny asked, casting an eye at the masseur.

“I have plans for him,” Yuki said, his voice as smooth as satin.

I’ll bet, Danny thought. Kicking off his boots he pulled off his suit trousers, leaving him in just his red fundoshi. He was slightly surprised to find his substantial cock was half hard already, making the cotton bulge outward rather more than usual. Yuki’s admiration was kind of hot. “Shall I remove this, too?” he asked, looking up.

Yuki was showing signs of arousal, too—his snug white trousers were not designed to hide a long, hard rod like his. The masseur’s attention, however, was all on Danny. “Absolutely,” Yuki said, drawing out the word.

Danny did as directed, his cock springing free and taking the opportunity to swell to its full size of eleven hard, girthy inches. Tossing the undergarment onto one of the chairs, Danny sauntered over to the table, his cock leading the way, until he was looming over the shorter man. “Ready for me to climb on?” Danny said, his voice low and dark.

This was potentially getting out of hand right out of the gate, but he was having trouble reining himself in. He wanted Yuki, more than he’d thought he would. Craved him, almost, in a way that was more than a bit possessive. Guys who were more than they seemed turned him on in a major way, and it irked him that this trickster had been Aiko’s tool first. I could fuck you right now, Danny told him with his eyes. Bend you over and make you my own personal bitch. Aiko can go and take a running jump.

Yuki’s return gaze said Hold that thought. He stepped aside, and Danny got up onto the massage table, very pointedly arranging his erection to lie against his belly before he relaxed into position.

“Very nice,” Yuki said. “Let my just get my stuff and we’ll get started.” He retrieved some things from the drawers under the stack of towels, including a demure ceramic pot that didn’t come from any bath and bodyworks kind of store. He returned to Danny’s side and climbed up behind him, Danny’s well-developed thighs between his knees, setting his materials on a slide-out shelf built into the table.

“You’re going to love this special oil I just found,” the masseur said silkily, even as Danny felt a warm, hand-shaped slickness across each of his shoulder-blades. “It will really get you in touch with your… inner animal.”

He could see Yuki in the mirrored wall, grinning fiercely as he worked the oil into Danny’s broad, muscular back. Danny suppressed a shiver. There it was, he thought. Danny’s plan depended on making himself vulnerable to Yuki, but there were a lot of ways this could go. This was not the first time he’d had to fight for his life naked and with a hard-on, but he preferred to be at least partly dressed when the knives came out.

The oil was indeed having an effect on Danny. The air in the room seemed to warm and thicken, and his passion and lust seemed to intensify. His cock throbbed from where it lay pressed between the hard cobbles of his abs and the padded surface of the table. His anus twisted, demanding attention, and Danny’s stomach fluttered nervously. He liked it both ways, even relished a good fuck on occasion; but this was business. He had to be the top. Only… as Danny breathed in the fumes and felt the oil seeping into him, what he had come here for mattered less and less to him. He was here to fuck, and get fucked. He was here because Yuki was a hot, sexy, scheming little acrobat whom Danny was willing to bet was bendy as fuck.

Interestingly enough, Yuki, if anything, seemed even more affected by the change in atmosphere than Danny was. His movements were becoming more frenzied, his expression more feral, as his deft fingers dug into the thick, vividly inked muscles of Danny’s traps and delts. “Yeah, yeah, change for me, Yakuza ape,” he muttered under his breath as he worked his oils into the larger man, staring hard at the tattooed skin he was massaging as if willing it to corrupt under his very gaze. “Become the submissive monkey you have always been,” he ranted softly, his movements becoming faster and jerkier. “Feel it sinking into you, undoing your humanity, regressing you to the sub-monkey you truly are…”

Danny was having trouble focusing. Did Yuki see all Yakuza as thugs, nothing more than apes wreaking havoc and doing the bidding of others? He was so turned on, he could barely think, but. he felt a frisson of fear as he realized that Yuki meant “change for me” literally. His stab at betrayal and vindication was to be accomplished by… trying to turn Danny into a monkey!

Something was happening, for sure. He certainly felt more primal, like his civilized mind was regressing and his libido were taking over. Was it working? Desperately, he tried to check the wall mirror for signs of simian metamorphosis—hair, tail, anything; but he was so turned on he was having trouble focusing literally as well as figuratively. His image in the mirror was blurred and indistinct, but he seemed recognizable. If anything, it was the masseur on top of him who looking hairier in the arms, and the face…

Yuki was still muttering, less distinctly now, but his frenzy seemed to be increasing. As he leaned forward and back, gathering more oil from the pot and pushing it into Danny’s flanks, shoulders, and arms, the swollen front of his trousers was rutting against the firm globes of Danny’s ass, riding the crease up, and down, and up again. Finally, with a growl, Yuki sat up and viciously yanked open the fly of his pants, with such force that buttons were flying across the room. Shoving down his pants, Yuki hauled out his long, thin prick. Without a pause he used the oil from the ceramic pot to slick it up. Then he froze, his raging, up-curved cock poised, his eyes meeting Danny’s in the mirror, waiting.

“Do it,” Danny said, and the words had barely left his lips before the head of Yuki’s prick was pressing rudely through the tight, seldom-broached ring of muscle and into Danny’s tight, eager ass.

Yuki pushed all the way in in one go, unable to control himself, and Danny winced in anticipation before lighting up with pleasure—the magical oil, it seemed, was the perfect lube, keeping his ass extremely tight for Yuki’s pleasure while maximizing all gratification for Danny. A minute of stillness, and then Yuki was pounding him, nailing him to the table, and yet Danny somehow felt like he was in control. Yuki was being driven by passions that all revolved around Danny: his lust for Danny’s body, his lust for revenge, his lust to show his power to a powerful man. Danny watched in the mirror as the indistinct, increasingly hairy form on top of him tried to exert its authority, grasping his flanks at one end below thew flares of his well-worked lats, while hand-like feet vise-gripped the sides of the table at the other.

A tail had emerged from somewhere—a genuine monkey tail, long and strong, and as Danny watched it it curled itself loosely around Yuki’s hairy but muscular left arm. At first, Danny, mindless with lust and confused by the need-intensifying effects of the oil and the fucking, was afraid it was his tail; but no, it was Yuki’s. Strangest of all, over the roar of his own libido and his desperate need for pleasure, he heard Yuki chanting softly to himself—and what he was chanting, even as he drilled deeply and satisfying into Danny, was, “Fuck me… fuck me… fuck me… fuck me… fuck me…”

Danny swallowed and squared his inked-up shoulders, his unfailing instincts feeling the turning point as it arrived. “Yuki!” he barked.

The hard-muscled man-monkey poised over him froze, not a single part of him moving, his long, still very human dick pushed halfway into Danny’s tight, oil-slicked channel.

Their eyes met in the mirror. Danny grinned, slow and feral. “Your turn,” he said.

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Yuki withdrew, and Danny deftly turned himself over under him—freeing his steel-hard cock, which spattered drops of pre across the front of Yuki’s white top, now straining against striated, fur-carpeted muscle. Yuki’s face had undergone a change, representing the partial transformation from human to simian: his eyes were the same, but his still-mostly-human mouth seemed to push out from his face, and his cheeks were now covered in the same dark-brown fur that had spread over his acrobat’s physique, swaddling across his neck and up around his face and eyes to cover his forehead, the fur there melting into the longer hair above like am unkept lawn shading into wilder grasslands. In a photograph it would have looked like an extremely professional F/X makeup job, as though it had been done for some movie where a virus was converting hot young guys into hot young half-monkey men; but here in person, inches away, their warm breaths gusting over each other, every hair was real, every alteration incontrovertible. Wherever Danny looked, there was proof that Yuki was no longer simply human. He had been transformed, by his own cursed massage oil, into something both man and other. Yuki’s long tail was now wound around his forearm, the tip twitching slightly along the crevice between the radial and digital muscles.

Danny held the monkey-man’s gaze, seeing in those eyes—still an eerie dark green—the same lust-compromised will he felt in himself. Neither of them knew anything in this frozen, heart-pounding moment but the overwhelming need for Danny to fuck Yuki, hard. There was no time to waste. Only a glint of fear edged Yuki’s ardent eyes; and what feared most, Danny was certain, was that his young tattooed buck of a client would not fuck him—would refuse to dominate him.

Danny grinned. If Yuki thought there was any way he wasn’t going to feel his raging tool pushing into him, he had truly lost all reason. He set the half-monkey’s mind at ease with a slow caress of his hand up the soft, smooth fur of Yuki’s powerful arm. Yuki closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the pleasure of Danny’s touch, and his tail slid loosely around Danny’s forearm as he stroked. When Yuki opened his eyes eyes, Danny spoke. “Slick me up,” he commanded.

Yuki hissed, showing his teeth, then twisted to dunk his fingers in the pot again. Danny felt a flutter of anticipation. He wasn’t sure what the oil was doing to him, only that its primary intended effect had boomeranged into the masseur, and instead of Danny being monkified it was the plotter himself who was the victim. But Danny knew that that wasn’t the whole story. He felt a notch stronger and innately more powerful, like he could fuck for days. His need consumed him, and in his sex-stupor he was aware enough of himself to hope that this part, at least, was temporary. He could deal with being a little beastlier, but not with reverting to an actual beast.

The oil felt cool on his dick as Yuki slathered it up, his eyes back on Danny’s, pleading for a hard fuck. Danny didn’t look away, his own eyes promising exactly that. When Danny’s nearly foot-long tool was slicked and ready, Yuki stilled again, waiting. “Prep yourself,” Danny ordered.

Silently, Yuki shook his head slowly, just once. Danny lifted a brow. “Are you refusing to do what I tell you, Marmoset?” he asked.

Yuki bared his death. “Get on with it,” he begged.

Danny quivered, his dick and balls demanding he comply. His blood seemed to be unbearably hot, tearing through his muscles, feeding them as it fed his mighty prick. But Danny had to establish dominance first, without question and for all time. “Call me by my name,” he said, glaring intently up at the desperate half-monkey masseur. When Yuki opened his lips to speak, Danny overrode himself, determined to crush Yuki’s grudge against his family once and for all. “No—not my name,” he commanded. “Yakuza. Call me Yakuzasan.”

Yuki’s dark-green eyes flared, and his lip curled—but Danny could feel the man’s unbearable arousal coming off him in waves. Danny still held his hand pressed against the masseur’s upper arm, and the thick, corded muscle there was impossibly tense with need, as taut as the steel cables holding up the Golden Gate Bridge.

Yuki’s mouth twisted in a dangerous smile that Danny thought was unexpectedly endearing. “Get on with it… Yakuzasan,” he hissed, then lunged forward for a kiss. It was the strangest, wildest kiss Danny had ever experienced. Yuki’s mouth was not quite the right shape, a shade longer maybe, so that his tongue didn’t find the expected landmarks where they were usually to be found. Yuki’s own tongue seemed very slightly rougher, the soft friction of their tongues meeting sending a jagged thrill down his spine. Most shocking was the length—Yuki’s tongue seemed longer and thinner, capable of stimulating every part of his mouth and tongue.

His cock jerked desperately, the pleasure of just this almost too much in his heightened state. Fuck, now Yuki was like a drug to him, all the more strong perhaps for Danny being a virgin when it came to actual narcotics. He was getting it all, in one go, not from a needle but from some lust-oil and a fucking kiss.

That tongue—I need to feel it in my ass—

No, he told himself. Fuck now. There would be time for more. Yuki was his now, only his. He had to say the words, lock it in stone. He broke the kiss and stared at Yuki, bare inches away, their breaths huffing in tandem. “Mine,” Danny growled.

“Yours,” Yuki rumbled without hesitation, his need just as feral.

Danny was panting, unsure he could fully catch his breath. It didn’t matter. “Fuck yourself on me,” he gritted out.

Yuki wasted no time. Gripping Danny’s shoulders with his still-oiled hands, and the table with his handlike feet, Yuki pushed back deftly onto Danny’s massive tool, swallowing inch after unprepped inch with his furnace-hot, insanely tight ass. “Yeah, that’s it,” Danny rasped. “Fuck yourself. Feel the burn of my huge dick in your monkey-man ass.” Yuki opened his lips, showing his teeth, and his tail tightened around Danny’s smooth, muscled forearm, but he never slowed, never held back. “That’s right,” Danny cooed in his sex-rough voice. “Prove that ass is mine. Take it all and never give it back.”

Soon Danny was balls deep in the smaller man’s perfect ass, and Danny wasn’t sure whether it was the lust-craze effects of the oil or what, but he never wanted his footlong tool to be anywhere else. This ass was made for him, like the shared transformation had molded Yuki’s ass into a forever-tight sheath for Danny’s monster dick, and Danny was so overcome with how great it felt that he had to push back a chaotic, all-encompassing orgasm right then, before the fucking had even begun.

Maybe Yuki understood, or was feeling something similar, because, once he was fully seated on Danny’s stiff, ass-splitting cock, he chose that moment to lean down and share another kiss with Danny—this time less frantic and more passionate, prolonging the moment for both of them.

They broke the kiss, and Yuki started to move. He pulled up, exposing half of Danny’s cock, then pushed down again.

Danny was going to grunt out a loud “Fuck,” but what came out was, “Mine!”

Yuki lifted up again. “Yours.” He pushed down again.

Danny was on the bleeding edge of orgasm, but he was determined to hold out. “Fuck… yourself… on… me,” he demanded, gasping, as he stared up into those dark blue, lust-saturated eyes.

Yuki began moving, establishing a punishing rhythm, and Danny had to grip tensely onto Yuki’s iron-hard biceps to keep himself from cumming. They kept this up for ages of pure pleasure, poised on the very razor’s edge of release. Finally, Danny let himself crave full, catastrophic release.

He reached for Yuki’s long, up-curved erection with his free hand, its steel matching the dense, straining tension of Yuki’s tightened muscles, and started stroking.

“Fuck!” Yuki shouted, and almost instantly he was blasting cum all over Danny’s chiseled and dragon-tattooed pecs, all at the exact same moment Danny started releasing torrents of hot, unstoppable cum into Yuki’s impossibly tight ass.

They came and came, breaking time open and separating “then” from “now” with the force of exploding suns, until Yuki lay collapsed on Danny, the Yakuza’s mostly-hard cock still in his ass, while the half-monkey masseur let his tail-tip explore the ink of Danny’s muscle-crafted arm, the two of them silently contemplating just how fucked they both were.

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“I told you they would be prepared,” the matronly hostess tsked when he saw the half-monkified Yuki approach glumly from the beaded curtain doorway in the back of the tea room, the grinning, elegantly suited-up gangster towering next to him. “You never listen.”

“Oh, he’ll listen to me,” Danny said cheerfully. He was wearing his dress shirt hanging open top to bottom, since it hadn’t wanted to button over his apparently beefed-up pecs. The jacket was feeling uncomfortably tight in the shoulders, too, and especially across the ass. He’d have to go to the “family” tailors and get some new duds, and soon.

The hostess have him a flat look. “You can think that,” she said dryly.

“Just give us a table, Aya,” Yuki said shortly.

A moment later they were following one of the wait staff to a cozy round table in the back. Danny followed behind Yuki as they threaded through the guests, attracting looks just as Danny always did. He eyed his new lover appraisingly. Maybe he needed to bring Yuki with him to the tailors, too. The soiled white shirt had had to go, but all he’d been able to find to replace it was a baby blue compression top that hugged his fur-coated muscle even tighter than the white top had. The trousers were straining, too, in all sorts of interesting places. Danny wondered if the tailors would be able to make a nice hole in Yuki’s new legly attire for a certain impertinent monkey tail—specifically the one that presently erupted upward from the waistband of his trousers and curved around and twitched against his back in a way that, Danny guessed, was less than comfortable.

Then there was the question of shoes, he thought, looking down. Yuki’s running shoes hadn’t come anywhere close to fitting Yuki’s big new hand-feet, so they’d just left them bare. Fuck, I want to feel those toe-fingers wrapped around my rigid, insatiable cock…

Danny shook himself out of what seemed to be his new normal of not-insignificantly-increased carnal imperative, and they sat at the little table they’d been led to. Immediately, perhaps betraying that Yuki was similarly permanently affected by his little prank, the hand-feet Danny had just been admiring reached across under the table and, hidden from view by the tablecloth, aggressively began fondling his junk.

“Cut it out,” Danny admonished mildly.

Yuki did not cut it out. “So what did she mean, that you were prepared?” he asked.

Danny gave him a long look. Yuki stopped his fondling, but left his foot pressed against Danny’s package. Danny sighed. “You’re not the only ones with… magical resources,” he explained. “Seems like my paranoid boss suspected your double-cross, so he sent me to our Mage for a charm that made any spells cast against me rebound onto the spellcaster.”

They were brought a pot of premium gyokuro, a special brew that was not on the menu, reserved only for the most important guests. Yuki poured, and they sipped in silence, eyeing each other.

“So what now?” Yuki said finally, sounding like he was trying to keep his voice steady.

Danny watched him. Did he think Danny would abandon him? Silly monkey man. Danny already had plans, plans that involved Yuki as his right hand by day, and many other things by night. “Now,” he said, taking a sip for dramatic effect, “you belong to me. In every sense.”

Yuki held his gaze hopefully. “Yeah? What do you intend to do with me, Yakuzasan?”

Danny set down his cup and faced him, giving him all his attention. “I intend,” he said, “to use you. In every sense.”

The ghost of a smile curved the monkey-masseur’s lips. Behind him, his tail flicked with interest. “Yeah?”

Danny smiled his handsome-thug smile, the one everyone swooned for. Yuki drew in a breath and did not look away. “Yeah,” he said, a single word that was, like all his words, a vow.

5,462 words Added Nov 2023 3,789 views 5.0 stars (11 votes)

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