Tokyo Tease (2 page)

He should have just hit me in the stomach. It wouldn’t have hurt nearly as badly. Fat pimp guy’s laughter filled my head. “Japanese man want skinny blonde. You fat, like sumo. No one want you.”

I couldn’t stop it. Tears filled my eyes. I clenched my jaw, hoping to stop their flow and trudged forward. Sanchez grabbed my arm, “Baby, stop.”

“My name’s Natalie,” I said, no longer appreciative of the endearment.

“I know, Natalie.” He pulled my arm, making me stop. “I hurt your feelings. That’s not what I meant. I meant you have some pretty damn spectacular curves and most women around here are sticks.”

“Yep. I’ve got curves.” I shrugged free and started walking.

“Goddammit, ba—Natalie, stop!” His adamancy shocked me, and I halted. He put his hand on my face. “You’re hot. The guy at work has noticed you, and I can assure you, he’s pictured you naked.” He chuckled when I blushed. “If you like him, talk to him. He could be shy.”

I shook my head. Kentaro wasn’t shy, but I appreciated Sanchez’s attempt to buoy my spirits. “Thanks.”

We continued our stroll past the pachinko parlors and ramen shops that crowded the entrance to the station. Unlike Shinjuku and Shibuya, the Shakujii-kōen Station wasn’t wall-to-wall people on the platform. I glanced at the crowd of commuters and gasped in surprise. I couldn’t believe what I saw and dared another glance.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s him. Over there in the blue suit. It’s Kentaro.” The pit of my stomach gripped in excitement.

“The guy from work?”

“Yes. I’ve never seen him here before.”

“He’s looking over here. Smile at him.”

“No. He doesn’t know who am I in the office. Why would he recognize me out of context?”

“This is your chance. Smile at him. Chat him up. Make him interact with you outside the familiar setting.”

“You’re insane.” The idea held appeal, but the fat pimp’s words still stung and I couldn’t take another rejection.

“He’s still looking.” Sanchez grabbed my arm and pushed me against the ticket machine. “This will show him.” His hard, muscled body pinned me. His perfect bow mouth lowered to mine, and he took me with a rough gotta-have-you-now kiss. Entwined tongues and burning desire. He held me so close I could feel his cock harden.

Having seen him naked earlier, I’d already admired his abs and watched as he stuffed a dildo-model dick into those jeans. I kind of forgot where I was. Within seconds, I moaned and wrapped my leg around his hip so I could feel his cock grind against my tingling cunt.

Sanchez pulled back. “Whoa, Natalie. Save it for your office boy.”

“Who?”

He laughed and glanced around. “Office Boy is still watching. Trust me, he’ll remember who you are after our little show.” With a wink, he turned me around, patted my ass and sent me toward the train platform.

I didn’t get it. If I’d seen a guy I liked making out with some woman, I’d think they were a couple and back off. Then again, Sanchez had just spent the night with the hottest blonde chick in Tokyo, a smoking hot black dude, and a white man with the biggest cock I’d ever seen. Maybe he knew what he was talking about.

Trying to cool my lust, I straightened my skirt and joined the queue on the train platform. What a way to spend the morning!

Without looking, I knew when Kentaro stepped behind me. I recognized his scent and the familiar warmth that overcame me every time I was in his presence.

The crush of commuters crammed onto the express train—the nonstop from Shakujii-kōen to Shinjuku, a twenty minute trip.

As the train doors closed, I found myself smashed with my back to the door and Kentaro smooshed against me. We were crowded in the train, unable to move. My fellow commuters had their backs to me, but he stood directly in front of me.

Should I make eye contact? Acknowledge him? Why bother?

All doubts that he knew my identity vanished when he touched my hip.

My heart stopped.

Riding on the trains and subways of Japan had taught me one thing. No matter how many orgasms you had from dry humping the briefcase of the guy in front of you, you did not touch. Even if you had to ride forty-five minutes with some short Japanese man glued to your cleavage, there was nothing intimate about it. Unless you were a
chikan
, a pervert, you kept your hands to yourself.

For Kentaro to actually reach out and touch me was acknowledgement. I glanced up and discovered him looking out the window, watching as the train raced past the platforms of smaller stations.

Okay, play this cool. I can stand here and act like he doesn’t have his hand on my hip.

As he watched the passing scenery, he slid his hand from my hip to my waist. I bit my upper lip, trying to maintain the same cool, indifferent expression Kentaro possessed. He causally lifted the edge of my sweater.

I knew he could feel my heart racing and could tell I held my breath by his small smirk of a smile. I looked away from his face, fearing he’d see the shock in my eyes if he glanced down. My stare bore into his blue suit-covered shoulder.

His smooth hand feathered across my ribcage. For a split second, I worried about my weight, the extra padding over my ribs, but when his fingers reached the lace band of my bra all thought disappeared. Glancing at the people crammed around me, I could see no one paying attention to us. I leaned against the door to give him more access, trying to maintain a calm exterior as my knees weakened and my panties moistened.

Kentaro’s palm grazed my ribs. Warmth spread through my body as he cupped my breast and ran his thumb over my bra. My erect nipple strained against the lace. He pinched it, and I had to fight my body’s natural response. I wanted, no needed, to arch my back and thrust my breast deeper into his palm, but I remained still, gave no indication the man in front of me was driving me insane.

He must have become frustrated by the restrictions of the lace. With his index finger, he hooked the edge of the bra strap and followed it from my shoulder, across the swell of my breast, and stopped when parallel to my nipple. Slowly, he pushed the lace aside, freeing my breast.

Moaning, groaning, wrapping my legs around him and fucking him on the spot were not viable options. Instead, I continued to stare at his shoulder as the train sped toward Shinjuku.

Something told me to withhold my touch, to resist my need to rub a hand along his zipper and feel his erection under my palm.

His thumb circled my taut nipple. He flicked, teased, and pinched, escalating my need with every caress.

Using the door as support, I closed my eyes and gave into the sensation, but only for a second. Any longer and I’d draw attention to myself by the look of ecstasy on my face. Even if I wanted to step away, I couldn’t. Scores of people crowded us, trapping me against the door. Standing there while Kentaro looked out into the distance and drove me insane was my only choice. I was his captive.

As the train pulled into the Shinjuku Station, Kentaro righted my bra and slid his hand down my stomach to my waist. The doors opposite us opened. He turned around and departed the train without a backward glance and made his way to the curb where the company car awaited him, which befitted his status as an upper manager.

On weak knees, I walked the rest of the way to the office by myself. Once there, I greeted my co-workers, threw my bag in my cubicle, and went to the bathroom. I had to deal with the pressure between my legs. My pussy had never been so wet. I stepped into a stall, leaned against the door, and pulled up my skirt. Praying no one else could come into the room, I slid my hand up my thigh and flicked my clit through my soaking panties.

I ached. I knew I would come too fast, three strokes max. The need to be quick debated with my desire to extend the experience. I didn’t want to get caught, but I couldn’t resist. I had to trace the route Kentaro’s hands took. First my waist, feeling the weight and warmth of his hand through my skirt. Then, his fingers slowly inching up my shirt. The light touch of his fingers grazing my ribs. Oh God, the feel of the lace dragging over my puckered, tight nipple and the cool air hitting it when he freed my breast from my bra.

Sweeping my panties to the side, I circled my clit with my fingers. Slowly, savoring the sensation of my cream lubricating each motion. It felt so good, yet it was lacking. My pussy begged for penetration. My middle finger glided into my throbbing cunt. Not enough. More. I needed more. With two fingers, I pumped my pussy, but still no satisfaction.

Hard, hot cock. I needed to feel it stretch my pussy. Needed to be impaled and fucked. Needed the raw burning sensation made by a giant cock dragging against the walls of my cunt.

At that moment, I’d have to settle for toying with my clit. Large circles became smaller and faster. My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to scream Kentaro’s name, but I suppressed the moan by biting down on my lower lip.

The pressure rose. The walls of my cunt tightened around my fingers. My clit fluttered against the heel of my hand. Oh, how I wanted to stop, wanted to prolong the sensation. I was so hot I could have sustained this level of arousal for hours. Taking myself to the brink and then backing off just as I’d want my lover to do. But I couldn’t. I’d already risked too much. What if someone walked in? There was no way to mask or hide what I was doing. I needed to be quick.

My cunt protested as I slid my fingers out, but I quelled it with a wide, sweeping stroke of my clit. Then another. And another. My breath caught in my throat. My knees shook. I wasn’t prepared for the intensity of my reaction. Like a jolt of lightning, my clit exploded, knocking me back. I stumbled and landed on the toilet. With my legs stretched out in front of me, I continued to circle my clit until wave after wave of orgasm shuddered through my body. I slid a finger into my pussy so I could feel it constrict and pulsate.

As my body convulsed, I moaned, smiled, and whispered, “That’s for you, Kentaro.”

The bathroom door opened and I rushed to right myself. A quick flush, and I stepped out of the stall. Akiko, a co-worker, washed her hands and looked at me in the mirror. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You’re red.”

I chuckled. “Yep. I’m fine. Just winded from the walk from the station.” I washed my hands. Akiko held the door for me, and we returned to our stations.

My friend and co-worker, Maya, perched on my desk when I returned to my cubicle. “So, how’d it go yesterday?” she asked.

Maya was an adorable, imp of a girl—short with blonde pixie hair, big green eyes, cute little upturned nose. She was all of five feet tall and spritely. Apparently, every Japanese man’s wet dream. Well, maybe not all Japanese men. My thoughts returned to Kentaro on the train. What the hell did that mean anyway?

Instead of reliving the train ride, which would lead to another mad dash to the semi-privacy of the bathroom stall, I had to relive my job interview.

“Mr. Kobayashi’s nice, isn’t he?” she asked.

Nice wasn’t a word I’d use to describe the fat pimp. “What exactly did he tell you about recruiting girls to work for him?” I walked past her and pulled out my desk chair.

“Well, he said, ‘Send your friends to me. I need more girls.’ Why?”

Bless her heart. Maya really didn’t get it. “Maya, sweetie.” I touched her knee, trying to soften the blow. “He meant your thin, beautiful friends.”

Maya’s cute lips formed an ‘O.’ “But you are beautiful.”

“Glad you think so.”

She pouted. “I’m not the only one who thinks so!”

“Really? Name one.” Please say Kentaro. Please, please, please say Kentaro.

Her hesitation was all the answer I needed. I wanted to tell her about Kentaro’s actions on the train, but I still had no idea what they meant. Maybe he saw me making out with Sanchez and thought I was easy. Maybe he felt up women on the train every morning as an enjoyable way to pass his commuting time. I could understand not looking at me on the train. It made the act more discrete. Departing the train without a backward glance sent an entirely different message. Too bad my stupidity prevented me from reading the damn thing.

“Nat, you’ll find someone. I promise. In the meantime, what are you going to do for money?”

“I think I’m going to have to sell a kidney since no one wants my body.”

She huffed up. “Hostesses are not whores.”

“Honey, I know. I was being facetious.”

She hopped from my desk. “We’ll find something for you.” She squeezed my shoulder. “Is it really so bad at home?”

“I managed to get some sleep. Jenn was out until two. There were three men at the apartment this morning.”

“Damn. She’s insatiable.”

“Yep. Jenn loves sex, and she’s not afraid to let everybody know it.”

“Who would have thought orgies would be so disruptive?”

“Mine never are.” I joked, but when Maya shot tea out her nose from laughing so hard, I was a tad bit insulted. I could have an orgy! Yeah, well that would require more people in the room than just you.

I tried to concentrate on the curriculum development project for some middle-management men being transferred to their company’s London office, but hunger took over. Visions of the jam-covered English muffin interspersed with images of mile-long dicks and hands sliding up my shirt clouded my mind.

With a shake of my head, I stood, stretched, and walked to the office canteen. A green-tea dispenser stood next to the vending machine. I grabbed a paper cup and held it under the nozzle and felt the warmth along my palm as the cup filled with hot tea. I stood before the vending machine trying to decide between hot ramen or chocolate-covered Pocky sticks.

The silver yen coins clanked as they entered the machine. I pushed the buttons and my selection fell with a thud to the dispensing area. Just as I bent over to fish the sweet snack from the back of the machine, the door to the break room opened. I righted myself and turned to see who had entered.

Naturally, it was Kentaro.

God, not only did he see my big ass in the air, he caught me buying cookies.

He nodded in my direction, which was more recognition than I usually got. With a slight bow, I raced to the door.