I wrote this story for Tiffany. Thanks for all your help, Tiff. I hope you're pleased with the outcome.
Chapter Four
It was four days since I'd spent that unforgettable, uninhibited evening with Michael and Kumico. Those had been the longest, most frustrating days of my life. All I'd wanted to do was meet up with Yoko and talk to my best friend about the concerns that had been pounding around in my head ever since. But it transpired she'd accompanied her husband Hiutsu on a rapidly arranged trade visit to China and instead I'd had to try and remain patient until her return.
That wasn't the only source of irritation. Nick was away somewhere—I no longer bothered to keep track of his movements—and it turned out that my (much needed) weekly masseuse appointments had been cancelled. I had no idea why, but I'd been left with no alternative other than to satisfy the burning need inside me by watching more Japanese porn.
My favourite vibe had been in use so often it was a wonder there were any batteries left. But it was no substitute for the real thing...
In an attempt to ease the frustrations, and boredom, I'd taken the bold step (for me) this afternoon of venturing alone into the Ginza—Tokyo's most famous upmarket entertainment district. I'd shopped there on a couple of occasions with Yoko and the numerous department stores, boutiques, art galleries, restaurants, night clubs and cafes made it a wonderful attraction for anyone with money to spend.
And despite my reservations about accepting the payment, the small sum of twenty thousand pounds was burning a hole in my purse.
After a couple of hours shopping—mainly purchasing expensive lingerie and the skimpiest red bikini imaginable—I'd given in to a whim and found myself in a small bar slightly off the beaten track, enjoying a martini.
Why not? The alternative was to head back to the loneliness of my apartment, whereas this way I could give vent to some of my frustrations by teasing every man in there. I knew from my pre-Nick days that a 'single' woman could draw all the attention she wanted just by simply casually playing with her hair, glancing around casually while fanning her face, or crossing and uncrossing her legs while enjoying a drink.
I'd chosen my outfit carefully before leaving my apartment and it left little to the imagination. The short black skirt worked its way up my thighs whenever I adjusted position and my Comme Des Garcons black tricot blouse, while not exposing an inch of cleavage, was moulded to my breasts in an undeniably sexy way.
And yet, despite the multitude of sly looks I'd experienced over the last half an hour, not a single guy had plucked up the nerve to approach me. Not that I was here for that reason, of course. I was simply filling in time by acting like the cock-tease I used to be, and when that pushed my adrenaline over the top I could take good care of myself once I returned to the apartment.
Still ... I could feel myself grow hornier with every glance, so much so that if someone had approached me, they wouldn't even have needed an impressive pick-up line.
"Fancy a fuck, darling," would do.
That was one of the problems with your typical Japanese man, I complained inwardly. It wasn't so much shyness, but more that they were invariably so polite—especially in an upmarket district such as the Ginza.
Eventually, just as I decided that enough was enough and it was time to leave, the dark-haired barman made his way across to me. A girl could always rely on the guy behind the bar when all else failed. He wasn't Japanese, more like a Latin looking Antonio Banderas in his prime, and I momentarily felt like one of my favourite movie actors was looming infront of me—one who didn't try to hide the way his gaze covered my tits as he approached.
"I hope you'll accept this," he said, handing me another martini. "On the house..."
He gave me a lop-sided smile as he nodded around the bar area. It was much busier now than when I'd entered.
"I reckon the longer I can keep you here, the busier we're going to be."
I smiled at the compliment and rewarded him by shifting position, allowing him a better view of my dark stocking tops.
"That's very kind of you," I answered, inclined my head graciously. "But I'm sure people aren't here because of me."
"A hot blonde British woman..." he simply said. "Oh, I think we both know every man in here has his eyes trained on this table."
That's a good start, I happily told myself. In my present state of arousal it was nice to have someone, anyone, call me hot. I stared into those deep brown eyes as I flirtatiously played with a loose strand of blonde hair.
"I'm not sure I should have another martini," I responded, changing the subject. "Drink always goes to my head."
That confident, well-rehearsed smile appeared on his lips again
"Don't worry, my job is to take care of my customers," he softly added, leaning closer. "I can always tell when someone needs just a little more."
I wickedly crossed my legs again and this time the short, black skirt rode further up my thigh, revealing a sliver of naked skin above my black stockings. His eyes followed the movement before finding my gaze again.
"And what do you do when they need a little more?" I challenged, my pulse quickening a bit at the mischievous glint in his deep brown eyes.
"I give them what they want, of course," he soothingly smiled. "That's what all good bartenders should do. Take care of their customers."
I laughed heartily, maybe a little louder than I should, and then took a sip of the martini he'd brought me to regain my composure.
My body was feeling aroused and overheated, and I loved the erotic sensation. How long had it been since I'd flirted with another guy, both of us knowing how the evening would end?
But this time it was different. It was late afternoon, and I was married.
"Take care of me?" I eventually responded, deciding that the need inside me wasn't going to wait much longer. "How do I know can I trust you?"
"I didn't know you wanted to," he returned, with a presumptuous smile.
His dark, penetrating eyes could read every thought behind mine and it was at that precise moment that I knew I was going to fuck him.
"I don't," I suddenly agreed, signalling my intentions by downing the rest of the martini in one gulp and then gracefully rising to my feet.
