This is the true story of my trip to Japan. Only the names have been eliminated to protect the not-so-innocent.
Ah, but there's so much more to tell. Thinking to have a clove and write in this journal before bedtime, I ran into the man with whom I had spoken the night before. Instead of a crowd this time, it was just him. I had a lot to say about my afternoon's events, and he seemed eager to listen. We fell to chatting, and I eventually closed the journal, having written nothing but the date. We talked all about our experiences in Japan. I told him about how shy I was in the public showers. Eventually, we started talking about how we had each been dumped right before our trip. This led to a discussion about relationships, and I somehow found myself talking about my "lifestyle".
"Um," I started, "do the letters 'BDSM' mean anything to you?"
I was incredibly shocked when he nodded and said that he was familiar with it. This was the first person I'd found who knew anything about it on this whole trip. So we continued talking, and he expounded on the importance and difficulty of finding a good master. He asked how involved I was in the scene, and I explained that it's the only kind of relationship I'm at all interested in.
I went on to tell him about how awkward it is for me to bring up that sort of subject in a relationship which is just starting. I know I have to, but it's always difficult and sometimes results in a parting. He asked if that was why my last boyfriend left, but I said no. Half joking, I added "The worst thing, though, about being dumped right before this trip is that; I've been carrying this heavy backpack around for two weeks and I know I won't be getting a backrub anytime soon." He smiled, sympathized, and kindly offered to rub my shoulders. I gladly agreed and we moved to a couch in the lobby of the youth hostel, taking the ashtray with us into the non-smoking area. (not the worst crime of the night) He positioned me in front of him and started to softly massage my sore muscles. His hands felt warm and very strong, but my dress was preventing what I knew would feel best - his skin.
I was feeling bold. It was my last night in Japan, I knew it was now or never. "Actually," I started, "this would work much better without the dress." In a flash it was up and over my head, tossed on the coffee table.
An appreciative "Wow" made me blush. He bade me to lay down on the couch and I stretched out thankfully, it had been a long day (including an earthquake) and felt good to lay down. I gave a pleasant little shudder as his hands touched me. I could hear his heavy breathing as he continued to gently rub my back. I sighed, relaxed, and enjoyed his touch. He continued down my shoulders to my ribcage, and to the small of my back. Then lightly, he dragged his nails down my skin.
"That feels good," I said timidly, "you can do it harder if you want..." Obliging, he dug his nails in harder, though not as hard as I really wanted. I was too embarrassed and afraid of making this guy think I was crazy to ask him for more. But even his nails barely marking me made me flush with pleasure, and finding the courage bred from opportunity's door threatening to close, I declared "You know, this would be much easier without the bra." Sitting up on my knees, I pulled off the undergarment and placed it on the couch.
"You can't do that!" he exclaimed. Shrugging, I said I saw nothing wrong about it.
He must have decided that he really didn't either, because he began to caress my stomach and thighs, flattering me with compliments about my skin and curves. I dropped my eyes, embarrassed at being in the most strange situation of kneeling on the couch in a Japanese youth hostel reception room in the middle of the night in front of a huge window with a man to whom I felt some strange pull. Sensing my uneasiness, he broke the silence. "Please, lie down." Smiling, I again stretched my body out on the couch which, due to my short stature, gave me plenty of room to lay flat and extend my arms above my head. This was the position in which he placed me, gently taking hold of my wrists and moving them. Then, laughing, he loosely bound them with my bra saying "Ok, are you ready?" I giggled in response. The bra soon fell off, but I kept my hands crossed and my arms straight.
He resumed rubbing my back, harder than before. I moaned softly as he worked his fingers into my flesh. He continued to sigh poetic words and I could do nothing but lay there in grinning rapture. He called me an angel, a doll, and I couldn't help but give into this fantasy of romance come to life. I lay there, getting drunk on the experience. Suddenly, I felt his breath on the back of my neck. I lay still in anticipation. Lightly, he brought his lips to my skin, sending shivers through it and making me sigh. He continued to trace his fingertips along my body and place light kisses on my back.
"May I...." he began "just kiss your foot?" A bit unsure of how my ticklish feet would handle this new adventure, but unable to resist, I agreed and kicked off a sock. As soon as my foot was bare his hands were on it. He brought it upward and sure enough, began to kiss my foot. I found myself extremely grateful that I had just taken a shower before coming out to the reception room. He ran his tongue along my instep and even took my toes in his mouth. His nails dug deeply into my hips as he bit down on my foot. I gasped and struggled to hold my leg still instead of jerking it away.
I knew I had to be quiet, we were surrounded by bedrooms, each with four people in them. I had to hold my breath and bite my lip to keep from crying out. My back arched, lifting my body towards him, and my fingers dug into the couch. His claws and fangs sank in further, and I nearly cried from the strain of hushing my moans.
As though to encourage my continued silence, I felt a series of swift slaps thudding into the one piece of clothing I still wore - my panties. He shoved them aside, roughly spreading me and shoving his thick fingers inside of me. I couldn't stop a few small screams from escaping as burning pleasure overcame me. I threw back my head, gasping and pushing myself toward his hand.
Pulling me up on all fours, he began to press himself against me. I could fill how hard he was as he roughly drew my body to him. His hand again came down against my panties and a muted slap rang throughout the hallways. With every successive blow, my fear of being caught in this strange position grew. Grasping my ankle and bending my knee so that my foot was in between my body and his cock, he continued to slam into me, pulling my hips backward.
He grew more fierce each time he pounded his body against mine, and I was forced up onto my hands and knees to maintain balance. I shut my eyes and focused on smothering the sharp gasps I couldn't repress.
Suddenly, he released his grip on my waist and seemed to disappear, leaving me trembling on all fours. In an instant, his hand was between my thighs roughly clawing at the delicate skin. I desperately tugged my panties down to my bent knees, longing for the touch of his skin. His fingers felt dry and thick as he slid them inside me. He quickly pumped them in and out of me, and I felt every muscle in my body tense as I came furiously.
Collapsing forward onto my stomach, I lay, sweating, on the pleather couch. I heard him settle on the ground beside me. Gentle hands tugged my panties back into position, then softly stroked my hair.
It was then that the soft slapping of slippers on the hallway floor could be faintly heard. I looked up to him in terror, what if it was security? Or perhaps one of the members of my travel group? I was frozen with fear, but he was quick to react. Placing a hand on the back of my neck, he pushed my head down into the couch. I was hidden from sight by anyone walking through the lobby, as long as they didn't notice my reflection in the huge window. Realizing this possibility, he hastily draped my dress over my naked back. Contemplating his work, he leaned down and whispered "You look like sushi!" I covered a giggle with my hand, trying to maintain the necessary silence.
I lay, breathing softly as possible, in anticipation until I heard what seemed to be a friendly french greeting. The two conversed for a little bit, and I picked up on small bits of the dialogue. It seemed innocuous, and I sighed in relief. Settling himself again on the floor, my friend watched as the stranger attempted to make use of the international phone.
"He wants to stay longer and needs to change his flight" a whisper explained to me. I studied the man on the phone's reflection intensely as he tried again and again to place the call, each try ending with his change dumping out in a noisy crash.
"I can see that he needs more practice operating the telephone" I thought "But now is really not the time!"
I nearly began to giggle at the absurdity of it all, and the fact that the stranger was wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a multi-colored striped pair of man-panties made the situation even more amusing.
After what seemed like thirty minutes of phone-training, the stranger finally left. I sighed and pressed myself close to my friend. "Ok," he started, "I'm going to go get some juice! I'm very.." and gestured to his sweating brow. He asked if I wanted anything, but I declined.
