The elevator chimes and you step out into the presidential suite of the Shangri-La Hotel in Tokyo. Mt. Fuji glows from the reflections of the lights from the Tokyo evening skyline outside the two story windows. Party guests wildly swing their champagne flutes as they chatter anxiously with each other. Your scarlet colored smiling lips are the only thing the guests can see underneath your black leather masquerade mask. It doesn't take long before a drink is placed in your hands and you're swept into the room by another influx of party guests coming off the elevator. Waiters carrying exotic delicacies' pass through the party like honey bees through a garden. You try some Yakitori Bites, Avocado CanapΓ©s, and Shishito Tempora as it passes by but the nervous excitement in the air makes it difficult to think of food. Besides, you worry about spilling food on your plum colored halter dress. Goosebumps run across your skin as you realize your dress hem might be a little too short or your neckline a little too deep, but it shows your curves beautifully and exposes your back completely.
After all, tonight's all about being a little wicked.
You spend the next hour admiring the art, the antiques, the company, but your eyes continue to fall on the exquisite piece in the center of the room. On a platform by itself sits a large leather padded table about three and a half feet high and just about as long in each direction with four steel posts rising up six feet high from every corner. The other guests also keep looking over at the strange furniture but none dare go near it. You become lost thinking of all the possibilities.
A chime brings you back to the penthouse party and two small Japanese women clad in kimonos that would barely fit a Barbie doll emerge from a back door. They come straight to you in the crowd and escort you away from the party and deeper into the penthouse. You finish your second glass of champagne just before they bring you into the master bathroom. Closing the door behind them, one of the girls begins to draw a bath while the other comes up behind you and gingerly pulls down the zipper at the side of your dress. You feel the material go slack and, giving in to gravity, drop softly to the floor. You slip out of your shoes and stand there completely naked except for your mask. No need to hurry. You wait patiently as the girls finish their preparations and help you step into the bathtub. As you get accustomed to the heat of the water and the smell of the lavender and jasmine in the soaps, the two girls slip out of their kimonos and step into the bath with you.
The three of you carefully move to sit down with one girl behind you and another in front. You relax in the strangers arms feeling her breath on your neck and shoulders. Lifting your right leg, the girl in front traces a soapy bath sponge from your toes across the top of your leg. She repeats the process going down the underside of your leg stopping at the middle of your inner thigh. You shudder and smile; your mask sticking to your face from the heat and humidity in the bath. The girl takes your left leg and repeats the whole process, moving closer and ending further up your thigh than last time. When she is done, she smiles and hands the sponge to her partner who lifts up your right arm and traces the wet sponge down slowly. The sponge stops a little below your armpit but you keep your arm up in case she wants to go further. She giggles and puts your hand down before starting on the other arm. When each arm is finished the sponge disappears below the water and you feel its softness across your stomach, your sides, and finally your chest. The porous sponge tickling your nipples as it passes by.