07

Chapter One: Melina

The sleeper train from Osaka to Sapporo pulled out of Kanazawa station. Melina returned to her newspaper, content that no new passengers had boarded; she was enjoying the solitude of the near-empty salon car.

It had been Melina's idea to take the night sleeper to her next assignment. During her 11 months in Japan, Melina had spent almost all of her time in high-rise offices when she wasn't in a tiny furnished apartment. Since she had a week off before her next assignment, she wanted to relax and finally be a tourist.

The Osaka office manager had tried to talk her out of it, explaining that the bullet train would get her to her destination quickly while the sleeper would take 21 hours. But Melina insisted, explaining that she hadn't yet had a chance to see rural Japan - which was true - and that the slower train service would be more enjoyable. "It won't all go by in a blur, like with the

shinkansen

," she said.

And the sleeper trains' names themselves appealed to her in a kitschy way:

Cassiopeia. Sunrise Seto. Moonlight Nagara. Dream Nichirin

. She was traveling on the

Twilight Express

, the Osaka-Sapporo service. The Japan Railways brochure had featured photographs of the

Twilight Express'

interiors, and the rich wood paneling and brass fixtures had reminded her of the

Orient Express

.

Melina was traveling to Sapporo to set up her company's third new in-house research department, a cost-cutting measure that had also proved to provide advisors with more accurate data. She worked for a global investment firm that had expanded into Japan during the mid-1990s during Asia's economic crisis. The VP who had recruited her had described the expansion by paraphrasing Rothschild: "When the streets run with blood, we expand."

Although she was the only researcher fluent in Japanese, she was also one of the youngest, not quite 29 years old. She had hardly been able to believe her luck when she was chosen for the overseas assignment. But the reviews from Tokyo were even better than she had hoped. The local staff admired her near-perfect Japanese and her respect for local etiquette as much as her research skills. She wasn't like other foreigners who were appalled that the entire world didn't speak English.

After almost a year in Tokyo and Osaka, she was headed north for the third and final department setup. Her assistant Yoko was already there and was setting up the computer servers.

Melina picked up her newspaper again, hoping to find a sudoku puzzle or even a New York Times crossword. But suddenly she had company. A tall Japanese executive - well dressed but a bit intimidating - had taken the next table and was looking directly at her. She looked up at him, nodded politely, went back to her newspaper.

Chapter Two: Shinichi

He looked at his watch. Shinichi's station was just over two hours away, but he was determined to not fall victim to

karoshi

, death from overwork. He decided to have a drink in the salon car. He turned off his laptop, gathered up his overcoat and briefcase, and made his way through the narrow corridor past the sleeper cars. Since the tourist season was over and it was mid-week, all but one of the sleepers were unoccupied.

When he arrived at the salon car, Shinichi could not believe his luck.

At first he found it hard to believe that the lone foreigner at the last table was the same one he'd first seen over a month ago. She was dressed in a knee-length skirt and silk blouse, with her dark red hair loose around her shoulders. But she looked up at him, and her clear green eyes confirmed her identity. She half-rose, nodded politely and sat down, tucking her pleated skirt under her thighs carefully. He sat down at the next table, slowly exhaled. Forgetting all sense of decorum, he watched her slowly turn the pages of her newspaper.

Shinichi had first seen the red-haired

gaijin

several weeks ago at a cocktail party in Osaka. The party had been held in the luxury hotel next to his office building.

His banker friend Hitoshi Miyahara had invited him earlier in the day after meeting him in the elevator. They were discussing the building's rent increases, plotting how they might minimize their own, when Shinichi first spotted the foreigner.

He had watched her from across the room as she politely bowed when introduced, presenting her business card in exchange for others' cards. She had been careful to dress conservatively in a dark blue skirt suit and white blouse. It was soon obvious that although she was young, she was remarkably well versed in local etiquette. She never made foreigners' mistakes like laughing loudly or insisting on shaking hands.

As he studied her, he realized that she wasn't a conventional beauty at all. She was fashionably thin but unfashionably pale. Her delicate mouth was not quite even; the lower lip fuller than the upper one. She had only partially succeeded in arranging her thick auburn hair in a loose French twist. But it didn't matter, didn't matter to him at all. He began wondering how he might be introduced.

Suddenly she looked directly at him from across the room, as if she had literally felt his gaze upon her. Her clear green eyes studied him for several seconds before she returned to her conversation.

Now Shinichi was determined to meet her. He began to think how he could ask Hitoshi to introduce him, as he was fairly sure she worked for his company. Simply walking up to her would be considered rude. But then a junior architect joined them, and it took Shinichi several minutes to escape.

Still trying to think of a businesslike lie that would result in an introduction, he looked up, searching for her in the crowd. She was gone.

Shinichi excused himself, walked quickly to the front door, looked around the hotel's plaza, searching the crowds of rush hour pedestrians. There was no sign of the foreigner. He stared at the pavement, angry with himself for missing the opportunity.

The next day he found himself at his drafting board, unable to concentrate on work. Instead he kept staring out of the window at the sidewalk below, half-hoping he would spot her among the pedestrians. Finally he closed the blinds.

During the next weeks, Shinichi kept telling himself that his attraction for the woman was nothing more than curiosity. He had never felt a particular desire for a foreigner. But he continued to think of strategies to find her while working at his drafting board or sitting in meetings.

Chapter Three: The Office Fantasy

When working late, Shinichi sometimes found himself fantasizing about seducing the young

gaijin

in the private domain of his office.

In his favorite scenario, she would visit his office after receiving a forged note from Hitoshi (the real author being the cunning Shinichi) asking her to visit him after work Friday to offer her professional assistance.

He imagined her taking a seat in front of his oak desk, an oversized antique he had brought from England. She was wearing a suit with a shorter skirt than she'd worn at the cocktail party, expensive hosiery that showed off her legs, black Dior heels.

"May I ask what I can do for you?" she asked, obviously wondering why an architect would consult a financial researcher. "I'm afraid Mr. Miyahara didn't go into details."

"I'm not 100% sure," Shinichi said, leaning back in his leather chair, inspecting his prey. She was fine-boned, smaller than she'd appeared at the party. Her demeanor suggested she hadn't much experience with men.

"Hitoshi thinks you might be able to help me set up a better billing system for our larger clients."

"It's not my specialty, but I can take a look."

There was a knock on Shinichi's office door. His office manager said that she was the last to leave, so she would lock the front door behind her.

The foreigner realized that they were alone. She looked at Shinichi, only to realize that he was looking at her in a rather un-businesslike manner. She buttoned up her jacket. Shinichi pulled up his billing system software on his laptop and offered his chair to his visitor.

"Here. Sit down and take a look at what we're running. Maybe you'll see some ways we can improve the monthly reports."

She moved behind his desk and sat down, dwarfed by his large leather executive's chair. Shinichi stood behind her, watching as she scrolled through the entries and eventually began making notes. He realized she was wearing his favorite perfume.

He leaned over the back of the chair to watch her. "You smell delightful," he said. "Is that Miss Dior?" She nodded but said nothing.

After looking through the billing reports, she said that the client breakdowns could be more detailed, but that the overall system seemed more than adequate.

She rose to go, only to have Shinichi gently push her back down in the chair. Was he simply being polite? If so, it was in a most un-Japanese way.

"Hitoshi mentioned you've been putting in a lot of hours. Please join me in a drink. It's Friday, you know. Hopefully you're not having to work tomorrow."

She hesitated. She'd been too busy to have lunch, and drinking on an empty stomach could be risky. "I'll have a very small whatever you're having."

"I have some single malt from Scotland I'd like you to try," he said as he poured their drinks. "It's called Cardhu -- pricey, but I think it's worth it."

She drank a bit too much too quickly as he read through her notes. He had been right, though -- it was an excellent malt.

"Thank you so much for coming by. I can see why Hitoshi suggested your taking a look at the system."

"You're welcome, sir," she said. He was amused by her formality.

"You must let me return the favor somehow. You're looking quite stressed."

He reached down from behind the chair and began to massage her shoulders, inwardly celebrating that he was finally touching her, even through layers of clothing. At first she froze, but she eventually leaned back, eyes closed. She had beautiful long eyelashes. Suddenly he stopped.

"Thank you for the massage. It was very kind of you," she whispered.

She stood to go, but he stepped in front of her.

"Take off your jacket, please," he said, politely but firmly.

Her eyes widened. She tried to think of a polite way to reject his request, but was stymied by the situation. How could she question her employer's best friend? She slowly pulled off her jacket, laid it on top of her briefcase.

Shinichi suddenly picked her up and sat her on his desk, pulling her shirttail out of her skirt, which had ridden halfway up her thighs. She held on to the desk's edge facing him, her expression a mixture of surprise and alarm. She then tried to pull her skirt down with little success.

He tilted her face upwards towards his own, one hand under her chin. "You're one of the most enticing young women I've ever had the privilege to meet."

She blushed pink, said nothing.

"I would have never thought Hitoshi to be a matchmaker," he lied. "He mentioned to me just last week that he thought we might ... well ... get along."

Although she was beginning to suspect a plot, she was at a loss as to what to do, especially as she found Shinichi rather attractive.

He reached down and unbuttoned the two top buttons of her shirt. Her pale skin felt wonderfully smooth under his rough fingers. He could feel the pulse in her neck beating as quickly as a bird's. Holding her by the hair, he kissed her gently until he felt her begin to respond.

It was the signal he'd been waiting for. He was through with talking. He eased her down on her back, moving quickly so she wouldn't have time to resist. She lay still, wide-eyed and confused.

The sight of the red-haired

gaijin

lying across his desk, ready to be sacrificed to his desires, was all the encouragement he needed. Standing in front of her, he pushed her knees apart and positioned himself between them. Realizing she was trapped, she closed her eyes, heart racing.

He slid his hands slowly up her thighs, pushing her skirt up inch by inch. He was pleased to discover that wide lace bands held up her stockings. Eventually he felt the warmth of her soft inner thighs, then the thin layer of silk covering her nether regions. He realized she was trembling.

He gently touched her through the silk panties, hearing her sharp intake of breath. He began to pull them down. But then he stopped, took a pair of scissors and carefully cut them off instead.

As he slowly ran one finger over and then inside her, he felt as if he'd won a coveted prize. Her delicate pubic hair was baby-soft, only slightly darker than the auburn hair that had first drawn him in. Her silky wetness had a just-washed smell, but with enough of the familiar scent he loved.

He began rubbing her tiny pink clit with rough fingers, watching her react. Soon she was no longer the reserved young woman of an hour ago. Instead, she was turning into a delectable, cock-hungry bitch in heat, arching her back, hair disheveled.

He took his hand away and stood over her, his face above hers. She looked up at him, breathing in shallow gasps, her eyes more black than green.

"Do you want me to continue?"

She nodded.

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

She only hesitated a second. "Yes," she stammered.

"Will you do anything I ask?" he said.

"Y-y-y-es. As long as I know how."

He softened, touched her cheek. "Don't worry about that, dear."

He helped her off the desk. She stood wavering in front of him, dizzy from the liquor, a far cry from the proper young executive of an hour ago.

"On your knees."

She slowly sank to the floor in front of him as he sat down in the leather chair.

"Do you know what to do?"

"I think I know what you want ...". She left the sentence unfinished.

"What do you think I want?" he whispered. "Show me."

She reached over, fumbled with his trousers, finally freed his pulsing cock. Her touch was wonderfully gentle as she slowly took him into her mouth inch by inch. Shinichi leaned back as she alternately tongued and sucked him, sometimes sliding his length into her throat for a tantalizing few seconds. If she was a novice cocksucker, she was also a gifted one.

Although he was sorely tempted to come in her open mouth, the thought of fucking her on his desk was the greater temptation. He returned her to the desk.

Holding her legs wide open, he teased her for a long minute, rubbing his cock head against her as she squirmed helplessly. He heard her whimper as he finally began to enter her, watched her expression change as he slid into her inch by inch. It was every bit as erotic as feeling her slick wetness close around him.

He began fucking her slowly, increasing his pace until he realized the force of his body was pushing her across the desk and away from him. She hadn't been able to hold on to the desk's edge any longer.

"Wrap your legs around my waist, quickly," he whispered.

Leaning over, he put her arms around his neck, then lifted her from the desk. She was even lighter than he had imagined. He sat down in the chair, moving her legs apart so her knees were on either side of him. She fit perfectly.

Holding her by the hips, he began forcing her down the length of his cock. He unhooked her bra, sucking her already-erect nipples as she rode him, her green eyes looking into his own. She leaned over and kissed him deeply, her red hair a soft curtain as she rode him.

"Nobody has ever fucked me like this, ever," she whispered.

Shinichi felt his cock harden even more, unable to control his sudden orgasm. He shoved himself deep inside her as he came, his eyes closed, his fingers digging into her slender hips.

After weeks of fantasizing, Shinichi decided that he had to meet the foreign temptress, even at the risk of looking temporarily foolish. He called Hitoshi's company and asked for the foreigner, thinking he could bluff his way through any interrogation. But a new receptionist politely told him there were no foreigners currently employed in the Osaka office. He put the phone down slowly, feeling despondent, again angry with himself for postponing his actions.

The only option left was to tell Hitoshi the truth and ask about the foreigner's whereabouts. But Shinichi kept postponing his enquiry, not wishing to embarrass his friend.

He need not have worried. Three weeks later, he entered the salon car of the

Twilight Express

and found her sitting there, almost as if she had been patiently waiting for his arrival.

Chapter Four: The Salon Car

Melina felt the tall man's eyes upon her from the next table and wondered why he wasn't reading a newspaper or

manga

like any other salaryman. She stared at her own newspaper, stymied by the sudden attention but not wanting to return to her tiny sleeper.

He finally spoke.

"I'm sorry to stare, miss, but I'm sure I've seen you before."

He explained that he had seen her at a cocktail party in Osaka several weeks ago, but had not been introduced to her although her boss Hitoshi was one of his closest friends. She relaxed, thankful he was not some well-dressed madman, and offered to share her table with him. He ordered drinks for them both.

Melina studied him as she drank. He was tall, at least 5'10", tanned, probably from the northern region of Japan. He was wearing an expensive suit, not one of the cheap and shiny suits she saw so often. His name was Shinichi Sakakura. She guessed him to be in his early to mid-50s. His scrubbed, rough hands and wide shoulders suggested he was not afraid of manual work: something in his favor. A child of working-class parents, Melina did not care for pampered young executives with baby-soft hands.

During the next hour and a half, she learned that he was an architect with an office in Osaka. He was no stranger to the sleeper train as he often took it to his country home; like Melina, he preferred the sleeper's traditional atmosphere to the bullet train. He had spent 18 months studying architecture in England. He had friendly brown eyes with just the right amount of laugh lines. His English was remarkably good, although most of their conversation was in Japanese.

During their second drink, Melina suddenly suggested they play poker. Shinichi was visibly surprised when she produced a pack of cards from her handbag and began shuffling like a casino dealer, suggesting they play for moderate stakes. He found himself losing a near-embarrassing amount of money to the canny

gaijin

during the first 20 minutes. He began to worry that he might be forced to write her a check if his luck didn't change.

Shinichi studied the foreigner as she studied her poker hands. He was no less intrigued than when he'd first seen her. She was intelligent and polite, with a dry sense of humor that reminded him of England. She didn't rattle on about herself for hours. And her physical presence did nothing to suppress his seduction fantasies.

He began to wonder how he could spend time with her alone. If she continued to Sapporo alone after he departed the train, she would disappear once again, probably for good. It was too depressing to risk.

After some thought, he decided to invite her to his country home. He would offer her the use of his spare bedroom, and she could rejoin the train tomorrow night. But she had not flirted with him at all. She was probably just killing time.

The train passed a small clearing and he realized his stop was only 20 minutes away. He fell silent, played his next hand badly, and began shuffling the deck mindlessly. Finally Melina asked if she had somehow offended him.

Suddenly he decided to tell her the truth.

"When I first saw you in Osaka, I couldn't stop looking at you," he said.

He told her about his wish to be introduced to her during the party, his disappointment when she suddenly departed. She sat looking at him, unafraid and curious, waiting for him to speak again.