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

Chapter One

My moans urged Nick on as he thrust down into me. We hadn't made love much lately—he had been so incredibly busy with his new job—and I was determined to make the most of the rare opportunity.

Relocating to Japan had been quite a culture shock, and one I was still acclimatising to. Nick had previously lived there for several years before we'd married, but I hadn't even visited the country on holiday.

We'd purchased a luxury apartment on the outskirts of Tokyo and I had quickly come to learn in my first month there that the City was vibrant, full of life. But it was also a lonely place to a newly-married young woman who so far had spent most of her days stuck at home rather than exploring her new surroundings.

It all seemed so daunting! And the roads were so busy that I had no confidence driving anywhere. Thank God for the constant supply of taxis.

Things would change once I found a job, Nick kept telling me, but that had proved to be a nightmare so far. So I had stayed home during the first month like a wallflower, reading magazines and watching television, although there was only so much an outgoing girl could put up with. There were times I felt like screaming with the boredom.

Thank goodness for my discovery of internet porn, even if it was of the Japanese variety. At times it felt like I was becoming a bit of an addict. With Nick working such long hours, and then being so tired when he eventually joined me in bed, it was the best way to satisfy my growing sexual cravings, even if it invariably left me desperate for the real thing. There was only so much satisfaction a girl could get from her favourite vibe, after all.

Maybe that was why I had turned into a bitch in heat in moments like this?

I wrapped my feet around my husband's back, scratching my fingernails across his skin as I dug my heels into his ass and pushed him even deeper inside me.

"Come on, baby," I urged. "Fuck me harder..."

His response was just what I needed. Raising himself up onto his elbows, he gave a grunt as he began to pound me even faster.

"That's better," I growled, my voice reverberating in my ears under the delicious onslaught. "Yeah ... like that..."

We'd met six months ago at a party in London and our whirlwind courtship had been like a fairytale. We'd moved in together almost instantly and in those days we made love two or even three times a day.

Yet those carefree times seemed like a lifetime away now. Relocating to Japan had many benefits, but sex wasn't one of them.

I don't think either of us had anticipated the long hours Nick would need to work to establish himself as a key member of Hiutsu Kyokota's high pressured management team. He'd spent more time travelling the length and breadth of Japan than with me so far and—

His moan brought me from my reverie. The way he was panting hard was a sure-fire indication he was closing in on his orgasm. But even though his powers of recovery were impressive, I didn't want him to cum just yet.

"Let me on top," I whispered, manoeuvring from underneath him before he could object.

Twisting my body, I settled on his lap, leaning forward so that he could suckle each of my nipples in turn. That always made me cream.

I knew he'd cum almost immediately if I fucked him in this position and instead I shuffled my body upwards, leaving a damp trail of juices across his chest as I slid my sex towards his face.

"Get to work, buster," I rasped, clamping my thighs around his head.

Gripping his dark hair with one hand, I yanked his mouth to my wetness in just the way the Japanese girl had done in yesterday's adult movie. When he stretched his neck upwards and ran his tongue across my smooth opening, I understood why she'd screamed out so loudly.

"Oh fuck, yes baby, like that," I moaned, grinding down onto his wet lips. "Just like that..."

When I began to gyrate on his face, in just the way the female Japanese porn star had done, Nick twisted his head so that he could breathe more easily. I moved slowly at first but—like the on-screen girl—very soon I began to increase the pace as the need overtook me. I was half-crazed as I frantically rubbed my sex across the whole of his face as the rapidly-building orgasm closed in and ... then ... quickly consumed me.

Scraping my breasts along his perspiring skin, I slithered my body back down his and kissed him softly as I fitted his still-hard cock inside me.

"Such a good boy," I whispered as I began to undulate on his muscular body. "Now it's your turn..."

ONE WEEK LATER

"This should be a fun evening," I rasped, as I rifled through the dresses in my closet.

Nick sighed again, but he didn't need to respond. The way he rolled his eyes was enough. I was being petulant, I know, but the thought of attending a dinner organised by his firm wasn't exactly filling me with joy. From what he had explained to me, it would be a business meeting rather than a dinner—lots of business-talk among the men in a language I couldn't understand while their women obediently sat by and amused themselves.

I knew I'd be bored out of my mind, but that wasn't the only reason for my crabbiness. Until his elderly boss, Hiutsu Kyokota, had arranged the last minute 'dinner' for his senior Executives—to discuss problems at their Kagoshima plant, apparently—we had planned to go out for a romantic meal. It was compensation for the fact I'd hardly seen my husband all week—again!

"We both know I won't understand a thing about what's going on," I irritably whined, as I held a Dior black dress up against my body.

Nick shook his head as I turned to him for approval, silently telling me the same thing he'd been saying for the last half-an-hour. It was too revealing for a business dinner of this nature. Well, fuck that! Approval or not, this was the dress I intended to wear. It was short but not too-short, low cut but not too-low cut, and if his boss considered this too revealing, my other dresses would blow his mind.

"Are you sure—" Nick dubiously began, but then held his tongue as he saw the threatening look on my face.

"I'm sure," I snapped, dropping the dress on the bed and casually sliding the white robe from my shoulders.

When I saw his eyes flicker across my naked body, I couldn't help myself. We didn't have time for me to push him onto the bed and fuck his brains out, but at the very least I could give him a taste of what was in store when we returned to the apartment after dinner. Taking two steps towards him, I dropped my hand to his groin and squeezed him through his trousers.

"Oh, did I do that?" I teased, batting my eyelashes at him as I felt him start to grow in my squeezing palm.

I kissed him once, twice, as I tightened my grip further. His mind was trying to resist but his cock had other ideas. Glancing behind me, I kept my hand on him as I edged backwards until I sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed.

"We can't have you going to a business meeting in such a state, can we?" I said, innocently smiling up at him as I dragged down the zip of his trousers.

I could see his dilemma reflecting back at me in his eyes. There wasn't any way we could be late for a dinner like this and yet his need was becoming—almost—as strong as mine.

He was fully erect when I dragged his erection through the gap and when I deftly fed his cock into my wet mouth, suddenly all his resistance was gone.

Tossing my blonde hair over my right shoulder, I sucked all the way down to the base. He didn't know it yet, but I intended to take him to the verge of an orgasm but no further. I wanted him to spend the rest of this evening thinking about what was waiting when we got home.

---

Surprisingly, the dinner had turned out to be much more bearable than I had anticipated. Although Nick's multi-millionaire boss was in his seventies, his beautiful wife—Madame Yoko—was over twenty years younger and to my surprise she sat herself next to me at the long table.

Her remarkable command of English ensured we were able to hold a long and interesting conversation. I had no idea she'd been a Supermodel in Japan and it transpired that we shared similar tastes in fashion, music and even the movies.

Even with the dinner over, she stayed by my side. It was a generous gesture. I was the newest 'acquisition' to the wives, one who couldn't understand Japanese, and she was intent on making me feel comfortable.

We sipped quietly at our wine as we watched our husband's converse in one corner of the room. Nick looked so handsome in that dark suit, I thought, and the way he was so fluently conversing in Japanese to Hiutsu Kyokota made me feel proud of him. I loved everything about him—his swarthy good looks, his crooked smile, his toned muscular body—and I hoped the memories of my unfinished blow job were still burning in his mind as much as it was mine.

I was ready to fuck all night when we got home, assuming I managed to keep my hands off him during the taxi journey back there. I was already visualising what I intended to do to as soon as we walked through our apartment door.

"They'll be talking for ages, Tiffany," Madame Yoko softly said in my ear. "Why don't we get a breath of fresh air? We can still keep an eye on them from the balcony."

I found myself glancing at her as we headed across the room. With her classical cheekbones, large eyes and shiny, dark hair it wasn't difficult to understand why she'd been one of Japan's most sought-after Supermodels. The more I looked at her, the more beautiful I realised she was. She had a remarkable body too, with her diminutive height accentuating her curves, and even at her age she could have stepped right out of a Playboy magazine.

"You need to understand its part of the way things work in my country," she explained as we leant against the ornate balcony rail. "Our men are the money earners, and it's our job as their women to stay in the background, support them when asked and be ready to let them fuck us when the need arises. Welcome to Japan."

I stared at her witlessly for a few moments, shocked at such words from what I'd taken as such a demure Japanese woman, and then suddenly we both burst out laughing.

"Unfortunately the need doesn't arrive anything as often as I'd like," I confessed, and then bit my lip.

The words had left my mouth before I could stop them.

"Ah, yes, a familiar problem," she empathised, not batting an eyelid. "Don't think you're any different to the rest of us, Tiffany, I'd say that every wife here shares the same frustration, including me."

She paused, her dark eyes finding mine as she let the statement sink in. Even her? Somehow I couldn't imagine such a ravishing creature making love to someone as old as Hiutsu Kyokota, and suddenly the thought began to spark my imagination. All over the world, trophy wives were married to much older men. But did they regularly fuck?

"My husband is a wonderful lover," she murmured, leaning closer to me. "But naturally his main preoccupation is his work and that isn't easy for women like us, who have huge sexual appetites."

Like us? How could she know? Did I look that desperate?

"It's written all over your face," she explained with a knowing smile, leaving me wondering if she could actually read my mind. "Especially in those beautiful eyes—a woman's eyes always give away her inner feelings."

I glanced away momentarily as I felt myself blush and when my gaze found hers again, her smile had widened.

"It's okay, Tiffany," she gently reassured me. "As I told you, every wife here shares the same frustration. But in Japan, we have learned ways to control those feelings. That's important if we are to take care of our men when they need us, yes?"

"Yes," I instantly agreed, hoping she didn't ask how I coped.

I didn't think that watching loads of internet porn while using my favourite vibe would qualify as an acceptable answer.

"Then why don't we meet up for dinner one evening," she continued, supportively squeezing my arm. "Japan is a wonderful country but it takes some time to learn our ways. Don't expect too much, too quickly, that's not how it works here. But I'd be happy to help you take the steps you need if you'd really like to immerse yourself in our culture."

My eyes instantly lit up and I felt a lump form in the back of my throat. Hiutsu Kyokota's wife was actually offering to help me?

"I'd love that, Madame Yoko," I enthused, smiling gratefully.

"Just call me Yoko when we're together," she persuasively told me. "I hate all this Madame Yoko stuff. It makes me feel like I'm passed it and I can definitely reassure you that I'm not."

We chuckled together for a moment, and then I realised that the way her fingers were idly stroking along my bare skin was giving me goosebumps. Her eyes found mine again for a brief second before her gaze flickered over my left shoulder.

"But for now," she murmured, "it looks like the business meeting has finished and we can take our husband's back. If I'm not mistaken, we both have some serious fucking to do tonight..."

---

"I want you right now," I rasped, squeezing my husband's cock through his trousers.

We'd only been sitting in the back of the taxi for a few seconds, but it was long enough for me to know I couldn't contain myself until we got back to our apartment. I was horny enough anyway, but my conversation with Madame Yoko had seemingly inspired me even further.

Nick's shocked gaze found mine, then diverted forward to check the driver's mirror. Personally I couldn't care less if we could be observed. All I could think about was having my husband's cock inside me.

"We can't do this in a taxi," he whispered, wrenching my hand away from his groin. "Not in Japan. We'll be arrested."

"Don't be a wuss," I snapped, smacking his hand off mine.

Nothing could stop me right now. Not when I was in this mood. I ignored his futile attempts to grab my hand again and distracted him with a kiss as I yanked the zip of his trousers downwards.

"We can't," he weakly groaned, as I swiftly freed his cock and began to jerk his growing hardness in my palm.

"Stop me," I challenged, reaching beneath my Dior dress with my other hand to drag my skimpy thong down my thighs.

Turning my back to him and facing the front of the cab, I swung a leg across his body and leant back against his chest. Taking his hardness back in my hand, I placed it against my wet opening and looked over my shoulder at him.

"Want it?" I teasingly growled, unwilling to feed him inside me until I practically had him begging for it. "Want your little wifey to fuck you?"

He gasped as I rubbed myself along his length. I gasped too. God, that felt good.

"Yeah," he grunted ... and within a nano-second I was taking him deep inside my needy sex.

Raising my arms behind me, I interlaced my fingers behind his neck and began to jerk down on his hardness. We'd have all night when we reached our apartment but what I needed right now was a hard, quick, satisfying fuck.

But that was before I met the taxi driver's gaze in his mirror...

It hadn't been that difficult for him to cotton on to what we were up to, not with me facing him, moaning like a two dollar whore. Nick's words of warning suddenly hit me—this man could easily stop his cab, call the police and instinctively I dragged one strap of my dress down my shoulder, then the other, feeling my nipples harden further as I exposed my breasts to the cold night air... and his gaze.

He seemed to nod his approval—or was it my imagination?—but nevertheless he made no move to stop the car. His narrowed eyes were all over my tits and it seemed he just wanted to watch.

I slowed my pace into a gently grind downwards as I maintained eye contact in the mirror. Fuck, it was so hot being watched. In my mind's eye I could see what he could see, a half-naked English woman in the back of his cab, bare breasts swaying from side to side as she gyrated downwards on her man.

Now that I knew he wasn't going to report us—that we were safe—I relaxed my pace even further until I was just slowly moving up and down. If Nick knew I was so wantonly displaying myself to the driver he would have been appalled. And even I didn't know what had gotten into me.

Was it because I felt like I was watching myself perform in my own porn film?

"How's that?" I found myself asking, although I genuinely wasn't sure which of the two men I was speaking to.

"So fucking good," I heard Nick appreciatively grunt into my ear.

I wore little diamond studs in each lobe, as well as a small, silver loop at the top of my left ear, and I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck.

My hands found my tits, pulling on my nipples as I instantly picked up the pace of my lap grind. Only this time I was putting a little more emphasis into my gyrations in my wicked need to put on a show for my audience.

"Tell me when you're close," I said softly, as I felt Nick's breath quicken.

"I'm close."

Geez, that hadn't taken long. He was clearly as needy as I was.

"Then give me what I want," I snapped, forgetting the driver at last and bouncing on him as hard as I could for thirty more seconds.

I was off him as soon as I felt his balls begin to tighten, twisting my body around in the confined space just in time to catch the first blast of cum in my slippery mouth.

God, he tasted good.

I used my right hand to stroke his cock as he came, milking him as I swallowed every drop he had. It was only when I was sure he had nothing left that I released him, licking my lips as he slumped backwards into the leather seat.

Sitting up, I glanced back at the driver's mirror and saw the man grinning back at me. Even in the semi dark I could just make out that two of his front teeth were missing. Giving him one final look at my tits, I grinned back at him as I slowly pulled my dress back into place and settled back in the seat.

"Think of that as starters," I grunted, turning sideways to face Nick as I tucked his diminishing cock back into his trousers. "The main course commences as soon as we walk through our apartment door."

THE FOLLOWING WEEKEND

I loved my large, round whirlpool tub. When we'd first moved into the apartment, Nick and I had shared a hot sensual bubble bath a few times and it always ended the same way, passionately fucking one another while the water splashed all around us and over onto the wooden bathroom floor.

That seemed a long time ago now.

Even the rampant sex we'd enjoyed after our fuck in the taxi was becoming a distant memory. Hiutsu Kyokota had phoned Nick the very next day to tell him that the problems at the Kagoshima plant couldn't wait and the call had resulted in him instantly packing his bags and travelling to the region's southernmost major city that afternoon.

Seven days later, he was still there.

All I'd had for company since then was my internet porn, my favourite vibe, and several bottles of chilled Chardonnay.

And yet I was excited about tonight—I was meeting Yoko again. She'd telephoned me mid-week to tell me she'd made a dinner reservation for us and had even suggested we travel on to an exclusive club she knew afterwards. I was flattered that she was taking such an interest and wanted to look my best. Before I'd met the former Supermodel I was feeling that my life in Japan was going nowhere. Now I felt it was about to change for the better.

I took another sip from the glass of Chardonnay beside me before returning it to the curved rim and tipping my blonde hair back into the foamy water. I let it momentarily soak there before smoothing it back over my scalp as I sat up and curled my right foot over the side of the tub.
The way the water traced its way along my thigh and then trickled back into the tub looked kind of erotic to me.

I picked up the bottle of body wash from the side and pushed my body up from the bath. Lathering the liquid in both hands, I had to resist the temptation to let my fingers stray between my thighs as I spread it across my stubble. I was here to shave, not play with myself.

It didn't take long for my little pink razor to complete its task, and my skin felt incredibly smooth as I slowly ran my fingers ran across my newly-shaved flesh. Ridiculously, I found myself wondering if Yoko was smooth, too—she'd been a model after all. Still, based on the evidence of the Japanese porn I'd watched over the last month, it seemed unlikely.

Shaking away the absurd thought, I placed my hands on the side of the tub and pushed upwards and out of the bath. Still dripping water, I grabbed a towel and patted myself dry as I made my way to the bedroom and opened the top drawer of my bedside table.

Why not, I told myself, taking out my vibe. I had time, didn't I?

The mirror on the dressing table was tilted perfectly from my masturbatory session last night, allowing me to watch my reflection from the bed. I settled back on the sheets and switched on the vibrator as I thought back to my session with Nick in the taxi.

Had I really put on a show for the driver? I'd never done anything quite like that before. I'd wondered several times since then if he'd played with himself while he watched us, watched me.

He must have done, mustn't he, even while driving?

For whatever reason, that thought had never failed to arouse me. I slid the vibe inside me as my imagination begun to wander. What if Nick hadn't been in the taxi? What if the driver had exposed himself to me? And the worst of them all—what if it was him I was fucking, not my husband.

Girl, I told myself as my hips began to pump upwards from the bed, you need it real bad.

TWO NIGHT'S LATER

I hadn't been this drunk in some time.

Well, maybe not drunk, not yet. But close. We had meet at the high end Kozue restaurant, perched far above the fray on the fortieth floor of the Park Hyatt, and my mouth had dropped open as soon as I'd walked through the door. I'd never been in such an opulent setting, not even in England.

"Everyone who is anyone dines here," Yoko had smilingly told me, and then pointed out one Japanese celebrity after another.

"It usually takes months to obtain a reservation," she'd added, "but if you ever need a table, just use my name."

She had ordered for us—a shabu-shabu of perfectly marbled beef from premium wagyu cattle—along with the expensive Koshu wine that had been my undoing. I'd over-indulged, which hadn't been a good idea considering the amount I'd already drunk before leaving my apartment.

I apologised of course, but Yoko just told me not to be so silly. I was her guest this evening and anything went, she'd pointed out, and added that she was drinking every bit as much as I was. Maybe she could hold her booze better? All I knew was that by the time we'd finished the meal, my cheeks were red, my head was woozy, and a delightful feeling of wellbeing had settled over me.

Despite her undeniable fame—a former Supermodel married to one of Japan's most successful and wealthiest businessmen—it was so easy to talk to her. She had me laughing out loud at some of her stories about her modelling exploits while gasping in disbelief at others. If only the public knew what some of these high-profile models got up to in their private lives! But basically, we were just two women out together for the evening, enjoying one another's company.

She'd insisted on ordering liqueurs before we left the restaurant, and by the time we'd headed onto the exclusive nightclub she regularly frequented I was becoming unsteady on my feet as well as slurring the occasional word.

It occurred to me that Nick would have been appalled to see me in this state when I was in the company of his boss's beautiful wife, but whose fault was that? He shouldn't leave me by myself for such long stretches, should he? And anyway, he was apparently so busy at the plant that he hadn't even telephoned me on either of the last two evenings.

So why shouldn't I enjoy myself?

I'd complained about his forgetfulness to Yoko as we'd travelled in the taxi to the Starlight Lounge—for the first time since I'd arrived in Japan, I felt like I'd found someone I could really open up to—but she'd patiently reminded me that work were rightfully first, second and third priorities in her country.

"It's our role to take care of our men when they are at home," she'd added. "We must look after their happiness, but to do so we have to be content, too. Otherwise how can we support them effectively?"

Even in my fuzzy brain, what she said made sense, but there was only one way I was finding temporary contentment in Nick's absence and I wasn't sure if there was any long term future in that...

"Let me introduce you to traditional Japanese massage," she added, resting her hand soothingly on my bare thigh. "Japanese models discovered the secret years ago and I have regular sessions with the same masseuse for years now. Táchira just has this perfect way of making me feel good about myself."

"I'll try anything," I absent-mindedly agreed, suddenly more interested in the sensations created by her fingers on my thigh than what she was saying.

But just as quickly they fingers had moved away and the taxi was easing to a stop outside a brightly lit club in what appeared to be a side street.

"I'll book you a slot with Táchira," she whispered as we alighted onto the narrow, cobbled pavement. "I guarantee you're going to love him."

---

The Starlight Lounge—in the heart of the Shinjuku entertainment district—was alive with salsa. Tokyo's most exclusive nightclub was filled with the live percussionists, playing off giant conga drum stages, each song transitioning into the next. I hadn't had so much fun dancing in a long time.

But I was happy enough to adjourn to one of the bars when Yoko suggested it, allowing me a break from the series of guys trying to hit on me.

"You can't blame them," Yoko laughed as she ordered more Amaretto sours. "Many Japanese men adore European women, and when they're beautiful and blonde..."

She left the statement unfinished, and it struck me that it was the first time she'd called me beautiful. Her breath felt deliciously warm on my cheek and she smelled good—some kind of spicy perfume. It was the alcohol, I told myself, as I felt my nipples harden, and I grinned inanely at her as I downed yet another drink.

The bar glowed green and blue against the orangey lights of the rest of the club and I could feel my body continuing to sway to the beat as if it had a mind of its own. Everything here felt larger than life and my gaping eyes took in the uninhibited scene around us. I could smell drugs as well as alcohol in the air and on the dance floor everyone was working their bodies in their own unique style.

"Liquid dancing," Yoko whispered in my ear. "It's a crazy type of dancing that only comes out of a person when they've had too much to drink. Why don't you show me how crazy a beautiful English woman can be..."

There it was again—this stunning former Supermodel had called me beautiful.

I was so lost in the moment that I had no idea how I found myself in the middle of the dance floor, but I did. It felt like all my cares had faded into the background and I smiled to myself as Yoko watched from the bar as I gave myself up to the music and just let myself go.

I had no idea how long I danced, nor did I care. Men were dancing around me, beside me, with me, against me—young Japanese men—and I danced uninhibitedly with them, not just allowing one set after another of groping hands to wander over my body but practically encouraging it.

There was one guy in particular who persistently cupped my asscheeks and pulled me tight against him. After a couple of weak attempts to drag his hands away, I eventually just let him have his way and felt myself grinding back on his hard cock as he thrust it against me.

When his friend moved behind me, the combination of two hard cocks simultaneously thrusting against my groin and my ass was impossible to resist.

I knew I should stop them. I was married after all, but the fuzziness inside my head was stopping me from thinking clearly. At least, that's what I told myself. The reality was that I desperately needed some sort of physical contact in Nick's prolonged absence and—with one pair of hands fondling my tits through my Armani dress and the other dragging the hem of my dress upwards—they were edging closer to actually fucking me on the dance floor.

Yoko's intervention came just in time.

She appeared from nowhere and her disapproving glance at the two young men sent them immediately scurrying for cover. I almost screamed out my frustration above the heavy music when she led me away.

"Never in public, Tiffany," her husky voice breathed in my ear. "But I know exactly what will help..."

---

I knew it was the early hours of the morning—maybe two or three o'clock—but I wasn't aware of much else except that I was lying naked on a large bed in a luxurious massage studio. Yoko had taken me there.

I couldn't remember much about the journey there, except that Yoko had continually stroked my hair as she'd told me that I had to be more circumspect in public, and that her masseuse was going to take good care of me. A traditional Japanese massage would ease all the simmering tensions inside me, she'd promised, before leaving me to Táchira's ministrations.

The small, inoffensive-looking man wasn't what I'd expected at all. In my inebriated state, I'd been hoping that a young, strapping, muscular masseuse would be working on me, rather than a shaven headed fifty year-old sporting a wispy grey beard. But perhaps it was just as well, I convinced myself...

There wasn't any risk of impropriety with this man.

As his soft hands massaged the scented oil across my body—was I really lying naked infront of this stranger, without even a hint of embarrassment?—it soon became clear why Yoko had sung his praises. The knowledgeable way the white uniformed masseuse went to work on each of my tense muscle groups confirmed that he was indeed an expert in his profession.

"Relax, Missy," he told me in his pigeon English when his searching fingers found yet another tense knot. "Close eyes and hand body over to Táchira."

Hand my body over? I wondered if he could hear my chuckle. That's exactly what I'd been doing on the dance floor for the last couple of hours. My vibe would be working overtime when I got home, but I kept reminding myself that I didn't need to think about that right now. All I had to do was concentrate on the sensations created by his experienced touch.

The way he continued to pour copious amounts of oil onto my body as he worked—slowly, sensually—had me purring like a cat.

As time went on it soon became clear that while caressing fingers were gradually working the kinks out of my body, they were also unlocking the sexual feelings I'd experienced with two hard cocks grinding into me on the dance floor. I willed myself to lie still and focus on the moment, but my purr upped a couple of notches as his oil-covered fingers took the fullness of my breasts in his hands, rotating them in one direction and then the other.

This couldn't be normal, I told myself, but how could I object when this was Yoko's masseuse. Did he touch her this way, so intimately? Surely not!

The illicit thought began to draw pictures in my mind, pictures I shouldn't be seeing, and I closed my eyes as I attempted to will them away.

"Relax, Missy," his soft voice told me again. "Relax."

Relax? How could I when my heart was practically pumping out of my chest. I tried to think of Nick but instead it was the two young men at the nightclub who came in to my mind, touching me, feeling me, grinding against me.

Their hands had been all over my body. Just like Táchira's...

His fingers were sliding up into my armpits, making me gasp before they returned to my tits. He repeated the action, over and over, building up the anticipation inside me before eventually giving me what I craved by smoothing his fingers over my breasts, deliberately rubbing my thrusting nipples.

I groaned out my disappointment as his hands temporarily left me, but to my relief it was only so that he could spread more oil across my breasts. When they returned to my nipples, the sensations as he squeezed them between his thumbs and forefingers and were even more intense and I had to screw my eyes tightly shut in an attempt to hold off my rapidly approaching orgasm.

For a moment sanity returned and I tried to pull his hands away, tried to push myself up from the larger than average massage table, but Táchira patiently returned my hands to my side, telling me again in his pigeon English to relax.

When his probing hands returned to my tingling flesh, they moved downwards this time, to my stomach. I could feel my whole body shaking as I suddenly thought of my husband. Nick would be appalled if he could see me now, allowing a stranger—even a masseuse—to touch me so intimately. He would have expected me to cover myself, politely thank him for his efforts and then excuse myself and leave as quickly as possible.

But he wasn't here, he was in Kagoshima. His work was more important than I was. Despite Yoko's explanation of what was expected in Japan, it was hard to accept that I no longer came first in his life.

Even as my alcohol-muddled brain tried to make sense of my feelings, the heat inside my body was reaching fever pitch. Táchira's hands had flicked some switch and I hoped the continuous series of groans I could hear weren't mine.

Dammit, he was pouring oil on my inner thighs now. I'd already learned that where the oil flowed, his hands followed. I kept my eyes closed as I battled my inner demons, telling myself to keep my legs firmly together and yet not offering even token resistance as his firm hands eased my thighs apart.

Then his fingernails were scraping along my skin, massaging closer ... and closer. Was he testing me? Seeking approval? If so, the way my ass began to rise from the massage table gave him his answer. His fingers covered the outside of my flesh at first, teasing me before tantalisingly edging inwards, shooting to the very edge of my labia. I was dimly aware that I was raising my body even higher, offering myself up to him, and when he took advantage his two fingers made a wonderful squelching sound as they slid into my wetness.

Inside my head, I was screaming, pushing his hands away, covering myself up and jumping down from the table. This couldn't happen. I was married.

But in the mirror across the room—specifically placed for the purpose?—I could see my legs widen as forced his fingers deeper, and then I was throwing my head back as I squeezed them, rocked on them, pumped my heaving body upwards and fucked them like a madwoman.

---

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be, could it?

I'd been so busy coming down from my climax that at first I hadn't realised Táchira had climbed on the table beside me and released his surprisingly large cock from his white uniform. I stared weakly at him as his hands found my ankles, pulling my legs upwards and holding them apart. When he eased himself inside my unresisting body, I gasped out loud.

No, I told myself. It wasn't happening. It wasn't. It had to be a dream. I was married and the man about to fuck me wasn't my husband. I should be screaming at the diminutive, wispy bearded man. I should be pushing him off me, insisting that he had to stop. Yet, instead, my curled fingers were clutching the sides of the padded massage table and I was whimpering out my need like a rampant animal as his wonderful thickness began to pump inside me.

"Oh my God ... Oh my God ... Oh my God ..."

They were my words, over and over again.

"Oh my God ... Oh my God ... Oh my God ..."

His rhythm was steadier than Nick, almost machine-like, just like some of the guys I'd watched in the porn movies. How many times had I wondered what it would feel like to be on the receiving end? Now I knew. And despite this being wrong, so very wrong, I wanted more.

I gasped out my approval when he leaned forward and pinned my legs back either side of my breasts. When he began to pound me harder and deeper, I twisted my head to the side as I began to moan like a two dollar whore.

"Don't stop, Táchira," I found myself begging him, the words slurred but still partially intelligible. "Please don't stop."

He didn't. Not for a long time...