An Englishwoman In Japan Ch 03

I wrote this story for Tiffany. Thanks for all your help, Tiff. I hope you're pleased with the outcome.

Chapter Three

My heart was beating faster with each passing minute and, lingering in front of the huge residence's heavy oak main door, I still couldn't summon up the courage to signal my arrival. Even as I'd walked across the small cobbled courtyard and up the stone steps, the lights on either side had felt like they were leading me towards a decision I still wasn't sure I was ready to make.

My hand had risen three times towards the ornamental bell and pulled away again each time. Should it really be this difficult?

After all, I'd finally come to terms with my continuing sexual encounters in the massage studio, accepting Yoko's persuasive argument that I wasn't being unfaithful to Nick. I was just the latest of many women indulging in an ancient Japanese tradition designed to keep her fulfilled while her husband buried himself in his work.

And I'd never even thought of considering the now regular sex with Yoko—sensational, mind-blowing sex— as cheating. Girl-girl sex was, well, different.

But, standing outside the residence of one of Japan's most prominent and highly-regarded politicians, my mind was working overtime to convince my head that I wasn't crossing the 'unfaithful' line.

Especially with me dressed the way I was...

It was only a couple of days ago, as I was revering from another orgasm under her skilful ministrations, that Yoko had casually mentioned her husband's hugely important contact. A person, she'd said, who had a particular penchant for pale-skinned European women—especially blondes.

This 'person' could influence a parliamentary bill that had the potential to earn her husband millions. Money had changed hands to set up the arrangement, she surprised me by confiding, but before the deal could be finalised it was Japanese tradition to honour the individual by providing a gift of his choosing.

It appeared that I was to be that gift...

It would a huge favour not only to her, she had emphasised, but to her husband also. They would forever be in my debt, and the bond between me and the Kyokota would be strengthened even further. In truth, she hadn't needed to say much more. For me, the decision—as shocking as the request undoubtedly was to me—was straightforward.

After all she'd done for me, how could I refuse?

And once I'd made that decision; that wicked little voice on my shoulder had taken to whispering in my ear again. Getting fucked by a senior member of Japanese parliament as part-payment for a corrupt business arrangement—how hot was that?

All that was left was to find a way of trying to control the guilt that continually sat at the back of my mind whenever I embarked on a new sexual liaison. I'd been fucked by six masseuses now—all different, but all just as hot in their own way—but this was as different again. I tried not to let my little voice use the word 'whore' but I couldn't help but feel it was an accurate description. A married English whore, who used her body for her own sexual gratification.

Oh yes, the little voice would gleefully reply. Isn't it wonderful?

---

I raised my hand again to press the bell but again I couldn't. My reflection was staring back at me from the dark glass in the side panel and when I turned my head this way and that, the two little pigtails swung through the air.

Pigtails! How kinky was that? Almost as kinky as the outfit I was wearing under my thin outer coat, I answered myself. Yoko hadn't mentioned that until the package containing the outfit arrived late yesterday afternoon. Then she'd called me to laughingly explain that the politician had specifically asked for his 'gift' to be dressed this way.

"Just go with it," she'd chuckled. "Let your imagination free..."

I had gone with it, of course. There wasn't any other choice.

And strangely, it had actually helped my mood in one way. Dressed like this, I really could almost pretend to myself that I was someone else, not a happily married woman who was about to cement her unfaithfulness by—

No, no, I shouted inwardly. Don't go there.

I leant briefly against the side wall by the door to catch my breath. God, I was shaking. Beads of sweat, responsive to my frayed nerves, were prickling the back of my neck. Could I really go through with this? It was the same question I'd asked myself during the several hours I'd spent getting ready this afternoon.

Thank goodness Nick was away overnight, although I suspected that Yoko had arranged that, too.

I'd taken an extra long time in the shower, trying to drain the tension that had crept into my shoulders. Yet as I'd soaped my body, realizing that another stranger—this one powerful and influential—would possess it before the night was out, the thrill of what was about to happen was unstoppable.

I'd had to relieve the growing excitement by instantly making myself cum.

Afterwards, sitting infront of my dressing table after finishing a whole bottle of wine and about to apply my make-up, I decided to try something different. Something that would be perfect for the outfit I had to wear, but that would also help me further remove myself from my normal world and pretend I really was someone else.

I applied a liquid eyeliner, but only the thinnest of lines to frame my eyes; a lipstick that was a couple of shades darker than my natural lip colour, making it appear as if my lips were a little brighter; before adding a tiny bit of blusher so it made me look like I actually was blushing.

Once I completed the task, and then dressed in the outfit that Yoko had provided, I checked myself out in the bedroom mirror. Perfect...

If only Nick could see me now. Even just a month ago, his eyes would have lit up and he'd have practically thrown me down on the bed, ready to fuck my brains out. Dear God, where had those days gone? And so quickly, too! Why didn't he want me the same way nowadays?

I'd asked myself the same question in the taxi during the long drive here and still couldn't find an answer that satisfied me. But one thing was for sure. If my husband no longer wanted me, there were plenty of Japanese men who did.

When I—finally—reached out and actually rang the ornate doorbell, I fervently hoped that the influential politician would be one of them.

On an instinct, I quickly slipped my coat off and checked my appearance again in the glass side panel. First impressions were essential in the circumstances, and he was expecting to see a St. Trinian's-lookalike schoolgirl, after all.

---

The way his narrowed gaze swept over the whole of my body, and then did so again, more slowly, told me he was impressed. When his appreciate smile confirmed the fact, I felt an unexpected surge of relief flood through me.

But it was more than just relief. I was impressed, too. Although he was a little older than I expected, maybe in his mid-fifties, he had a twinkle in his eye that went well with his overgrown flock of grey hair. Michael Heseltine, I instantly thought ... a Japanese version of Michael Heseltine!

Oh God, Heseltine might be old enough to be my granddad but with those boyish good looks, posh accent, that air of unconformity, he had been the only English politician that had ever been able to make me cream...

Perhaps tonight had just taken a turn for the better?

"Tiffany," he said, those eyes twinkling wickedly into mine as he bowed slightly. "You're everything I expected and more. Please, enter..."

I couldn't help but check out his ass as he led the way through the hall and into a room to our left. He was dressed the way my favourite English politician might have been, too—in a crisp white shirt and tailored dark trousers—and while he was shorter, perhaps slightly more than five foot, I could tell that he regularly worked out. There was plenty of lean hard muscle beneath his shirt.

"Be confident," Yoko had told me as part of her last minute instructions. "He thinks you've done this before so he's expecting a self-assured woman to go along with the schoolgirl look. Quite a combination, don't you think?"

An impossible combination, I'd thought, and the point was reinforced as I walked on trembling legs into his highly modernistic home. I glanced around, more in a vain attempt to calm my nerves than from any genuine interest, and decided that any one of the items on display in the locked cabinets dotted around would be worth more than Nick and my total possessions combined.

"Let me look at you again," he suavely said, taking my coat from over my arm and casually tossing it over the sofa.

I'd left the top two buttons of my Gucci white blouse undone, so that a healthy amount of my bulging cleavage was on display above the black bra. The sleeves were rolled up to my elbows, in traditional St. Trinian's schoolgirl style, just as I'd checked on the internet. The tie was fastened long, but with the fairly big knot pulled down a little to make it look loose, a little tardy.

The short, navy blue pencil skirt barely reached the top of my thighs, and the black thigh highs—together with the shiny patent leather Jimmy Choo shoes—were the perfect accompaniment, even if the shoes did have a much higher heel than any school would have allowed.

The first time I'd tried on the outfit I'd wondered if it looked absurd on my frame, that someone of my age couldn't really get away with this, could they? But as he walked around me like an animal might circle his prey, his appreciative, almost lustful gaze, told me otherwise.

"Perfect," I heard him say, as he stood directly in front of me again.

His smile was almost wolfish as his fingers touched my chin and tipped my head upwards.

"Tell me, Tiffany, do you know who I am?"

"No," I truthfully said, hoping that my answer didn't offend him.

Far from it. The way he smiled suggested he was happy with my response.

"Good," he softly replied. "For the purposes of tonight, just call me Michael."

Michael? I almost creamed there and then. It was fate. Here I was with my very own personal Japanese version of Michael Heseltine. Just the two of us...

"And this is my wife, Kumico."

Oh fuck! I almost fainted with shock. His wife was there? No way!

I tried to disguise my startled reaction as I turned to see a young Japanese woman standing in a doorway on the other side of the room, sipping from what looked like a glass of champagne.

I'd never seen a woman dressed in traditional Geisha style, other than on television, and it made me wonder what sort of marriage this was. She was considerably younger than her husband, extremely slender and willowy, and looked absolutely stunning in that beautiful kimono. It occurred to me that she looked like a character who could have been drawn from a picture book.

When she began to cross the room towards me, it felt like she was floating rather than walking.

"Welcome to our home," she said, in a voice that was even softer than his. "And thank you for taking the trouble to look so lovely. You exceed our expectations."

I felt a blush flicker around the base of my neck as I thanked her for the compliment, and then blurting out that she was beautiful too.

"Thank you so much," she softly replied, bowing slightly and taking my arm with her free hand.

She led me across the room towards a door at the far side that opened into a large, opulent bedroom. Leaving me just inside the room, she floated to a chair near the king-sized bed, gracefully sitting down and crossing her legs in the tight kimono. She tilted her champagne glass my way in acknowledgement and then continued to sip from it without taking her eyes off me.

Alarm bells were going off in my head. Yoko had never mentioned there would be two of them. Had she known? No, she wouldn't do that to me.

I stood there for a moment, as if paralysed, wondering what to do or say, when I felt Michael's presence behind me.

"My wife likes to watch," he simply said, his hot breath on my neck.

I hesitated briefly as he slowly moved a pigtail to one side and planted a soft kiss on my neck. Despite my nervousness, the sensation made me gasp.

"I take it you've no objection?"

Objection? Why should I object?

I'd got off on the taxi driver watching in his mirror as I'd put on a show fucking Nick in his cab that night, and had the same reaction at the thought of the chauffeur watching Yoko finger me in the back of her limo. The idea of this beautiful young Geisha-looking woman watching her husband fuck me might be something I hadn't anticipated, but it was a thrill all the same.

"No, that's fine," I gasped, as his tongue found my ear.

I bent my head backwards, into his shoulder, offering him more flesh. Yoko had told me to come across as confident and that shouldn't be too difficult when I was already as turned-on as this. I'd been in the house less than ten minutes and I was already feeling the need to have him inside me.

But the sound of a click upset my equilibrium, followed by a second. My gaze instantly flicked towards Kumico again and I saw that her champagne glass had been replaced by a camera. She took a third shot as my startled eyes stared at her.

"For our private collection," Michael whispered in my ear, holding me steady against him in case I tried to pull away. "Our eyes only."

That panic that had begun to rise inside me settled as I realised they had more reason to keep the photographs out of the public domain than me. Should this liaison ever be discovered, his political career would be in ruins and, worse still, he would be disgraced.

"Why don't you undress for her," he continued, easing his hold on me when he felt me relax against him. "She adores beautiful things just the way I do."

I swallowed the lump in my throat as he crossed the room towards his wife and refilled the champagne glass that was beside her feet, before pouring two more glasses on the small table beside her chair.

When he turned back to me, he silently repeated his instruction with a single nod of his head and I began to fumble with the tiny white buttons on my Ralph Lauren blouse. My nipples were pushing through the material like organ stops as I nervously worked open each button, trying not to think about the continuing photographs Kumico was taking with her camera.

And yet that little voice inside me was talking to me again, telling me how sexy it was to be photographed like this. Work it, it whispered, work it.

Yes, I needed to. But how?

Slow down, I told myself, and maybe imagine it was Yoko I was undressing for. Yes, that was it. Half-close my eyes and think of Yoko.

Instantly, my nervousness began to fade. Releasing the final white button from its hole, I teasingly held the blouse closed for a brief second before pulling each end apart. Thrusting my bra-covered breasts forward, I shrugged it from my shoulders and let it float to the floor.

And all the time, I could hear the sound of the camera clicking...

The blue pencil skirt went next. Each of my actions were theatrically exaggerated as I undid the button, zip, and then slid it slowly down my thighs before wriggling out of it with a delicious shimmy and kicking it to the side.

A touch of nervousness returned as I stood infront of them in just my sheer Lejaby black bra, skimpy thong, thigh-highs and patent leather heels. Had I gone too far with my act? Should I just have quickly stripped and been done with it? I found the answer in Michael's eyes. He was practically drooling.

The confidence I was searching for returned in droves. He wanted me. And soon he was going to have me. I wanted that too—now, more than ever.

I told myself I would undress like this infront of Nick when his work pressures had eased and our marriage had returned to normal—perhaps to music, even? But even as the thought appeared in my mind, the little voice on my shoulder was telling me that stripping like this infront of two strangers was much sexier than anything I could ever do with my husband...

It was true!

Slowly, teasingly, I unhooked the front fastener of my bra, keeping the cups in place with my hands as I leant forward so that my cleavage could spill over the top. God, was I really doing this? I could practically hear their combined gasp. Easing the cups away a little, I offered the merest hint of my nipples before suddenly dragging the bra away and letting my breasts bounce free.

When Michael licked his lips, my already hard pink nipples hardened even further. The dreamy look on Kumico's face encouraged me too and I realised that I was getting off on this as much as they were. When I self-assuredly eased my thumbs into the waistband of my black thong and slowwwwwly pulled it over the gentle curve of my hips, I felt liberated.

Standing in just my thigh highs and heels, I cocked my hip to one side and struck as provocative a pose as I could. Yoko had said 'confident', hadn't she?

"Well?" I heard myself cheekily ask.

Kumico took more shots with the camera even as she reached out with her free hand to lewdly stroke her husband's groin through his tailored trousers. Even from this distance, I could tell he was rock hard.

"You have a beautiful body," she murmured in that delightfully soft Japanese accent. She smiled almost innocently as she ran her hand down the outline of her husband's cock again. "As you can see, you've awoken the monster..."

---

Kumico wasn't exaggerating. Up until now, Táchira's cock was the biggest I'd ever had, but Michael was easily his equal.

His wife had undressed him as I'd watched, sweetly staring me down while she'd unbuttoned and removed his shirt. My quick initial assessment had been right. He did have an athletic body with well-defined muscles. When she'd loosened his trousers and yanked down his black boxers, I gasped. His humongous cock was already ready for action.

"I see you like," Kumico said, smiling at my involuntary reaction.

She picked up her glass and tilted it so that the bubbly liquid covered the length of his erection before dripping onto his heavy balls and then down onto the carpet.

"Some champagne?" she asked. That beautiful round face no longer looked so innocent. "Why don't you come and get some?"

Hypnotically, I did as I was bid, crossing the bedroom towards them. Kumico took hold of my arm, pulling me down to my knees infront of her still-standing husband, her small hand reaching for her camera again.

"Well, Tiffany?" the Geisha-looking beauty softly asked, staring me directly in the eyes. "Why don't you show us if a white woman can suck cock equally as well as her Japanese counterpart?"

She began to take more shots even before I reached for his hardness and pulled him to my mouth. Who would have thought that a camera could be such an aphrodisiac? Perhaps I would get to see the photographs at some stage? I'd have to ask for Yoko's guidance on that one.

I swept my tongue over his champagne-covered cockhead and then dipped my head forward. His cock tickled the back of my throat before I'd taken even half of it in. Kumico was on her feet now, clicking off shots from each side, different angles, as she circled around us. Her actions only drove me on and I suddenly found myself not only pleasuring him, but also performing for her.

Placing my hands on either side of his hips to steady myself, this time I took as much of his hardness as I could into my mouth without gagging. The last blow job I'd given was to Nick had been fast and quick in the shower, because he was worried about being late for work. I intended to savour this one.

My gaze lifted to up at his face as I quickened my pace, sliding the full length of him in and out of my mouth It curved between my lips—perfect for sucking—and his hands found my pigtails, tugging them in approval as I wantonly covered his hard flesh with saliva and sucked again.