“Have you always liked girls’ juice so much?” I asked a little shyly.
“Well, to be honest, I didn’t like it much at first,” he said. “I did it first just to try. But the girl I was sucking adored what I did to her and kept begging me to do it to her again.”
“And you were a perfect gentleman,” I said giggling.
“Japanese girls are so beautiful when they come. So whole-hearted … so sincere. And they make such lovely sounds: whimpering, squealing, begging for more. So I kept trying, and then I found I loved it too. The taste … it was like learning to like Japanese food. It takes a little while.”
“Oh … can you eat sushi?” I asked, without thinking.
“Yuri-san …” he said reprovingly. “I have been here more than a few days, you know.”
I blushed at my own stupidity, and changed the subject quickly.
“Tell me more about your beginner. What happened when she was fully nude? At her first party, you were telling me about?”
“Well, we helped her take her clothes off, then she stood on a little platform in just her high-heels, and we blindfolded her, and the auction took place. We could all see how very proud she felt as she heard everyone bidding for her and wanting her so much – you know, clasping her hands, jumping up and down; then off came her blindfold so she could see her new owner at last and was given to him to do whatever he liked with for the evening.”
“What happened to the money?” I asked.
“Oh, we gave it to her and one of the older girls took her shopping and helped her choose some party clothes. You know, little microskirts, pretty topless dresses, sexy high-heels like you wear. She didn’t have any of that before. Now she’s a regular at our parties and an adorable little fuck. Still not quite seventeen and so enthusiastic!”
I didn’t think I wanted to hear any more about this lovely little fuck. I was still not quite nineteen and the new girls already seemed to be coming up so fast behind me.
“You really like those naïve little beginners?” I asked with a touch of superiority.
“All right, I know what you mean,” he replied. “I think really I prefer more sophisticated girls … like you.”
That was more what I wanted to hear.
“It’s so nice to meet a girl at a party, both of you knowing at once that you are going to fuck, but summing each other up first, finding out what each other’s preferences and skills are … but, you know, there’s something so sweet about a young beginner, so happy in her nudity, I just fondle her lightly, and at once she says, ‘Yes, oh yes, please do it to me … teach me!’ Lovely.”
Searching for something else to talk about, I said:
“You wanted to know about my colleague Shizue. She goes to a special establishment … she did tell me the name … oh yes, the Paradise Club.”
“She’s a member of the Paradise Club?”
“Yes, I suppose she must be a member. She wouldn’t tell me anything about it: she said it was a secret. What is it? Some kind of disco or night-club?”
“But that’s fantastic! She must be an amazing girl! Has no one ever told you about the Paradise Club?”
“No. Tell me.”
“It’s the most distinguished private sex-club in Tokyo. In Japan! It’s incredibly difficult to become a member – or even get invited as a guest. Only the most beautiful girls and the sexiest men get to go there. And it’s supposed to be a secret – if you are a member you don’t tell anyone, unless you are sounding them out to see if they might be suitable.”
“What happens there?”
“Well, I know only what I’ve heard. But all the girls are nude, of course, and available for absolutely any kind of sex – the kinkier the better, and amazingly beautiful.” He smiled at me. “Just like you are now.”
It was a nice compliment so I smiled back, kissed him, and tickled his balls with the tips of my nails.
“Thank you. I like the bit about being nude, and beautiful, and available – but I’m not so sure about the kinky sex.”
“Oh, come on …!”
“How do you get to be a member?” I asked, pulling the conversation back onto safer ground.
“Well, the men choose the girls, and the girls choose the men. Obviously there are tests. Girl candidates are fucked by as many men as want to try them out, and don’t get in unless they fully satisfy them all. Men candidates are tested by a sub-committee of three girls.”
“How do they do that?”
“Well, candidates have to promise never to reveal that they were being tested, and successful members are supposed to be careful too, as I said. But I understand the man takes them out to some expensive, discreet restaurant with private rooms. The girls wear clothes, of course, but the sexiest and most provocative they have. After dinner the candidate has to show what he can do by taking each girl three times.”
“In each of her holes?”
“Yes.”
“Ooh, lovely. But that’s quite a challenge. For a mere man, I mean.”
As a girl who last night had achieved a personal best of fifty beautiful fucks I felt I could afford to be superior.
“I think so. Lots of men fail. Even if they manage it, the girls report back to the others on their performance, and they may still be rejected. So I’m told.”
“You’re making me feel as sexy as anything,” I said. “Let’s play a game. You’re a candidate for this club, and I’m one of the girls testing you.”
“Right. Stand up and let me watch you walk about in those gorgeous heels. Remember I need all the stimulation I can get to pass the test.”
“You are a foot-fetishist, aren’t you?”
“Yes. A very happy foot-fetishist. Especially looking at your feet and shoes.”
It was a good game. He came copiously in my cunt, pulling out at the last moment to spray his load over my tummy and breasts; then before he could lose his erection I took him in my mouth and brought him to a very satisfactory second burst of rich cum. Then, as men so often do, he begged off fucking me a third time while he recovered from his efforts.
We lay in each other’s arms while he waited for his erection to recover. He was certainly an attractive man: his cock was not the enormous rod a girl likes to feel working its way into her holes on special occasions, but a good enjoyable medium-sized one, used with skill and understanding. The sort of cock a girl could live very happily with. The rest of him was pretty good too.
“Tell me more about yourself, Yuri-chan,” said Peter. “When did you first discover sex?”
“Oh, at Senior High School, I think. I was sixteen and a few months when I graduated from Junior High. That was back home in Morioka, of course. The change to Senior High was quite a revelation. For one thing, no more sailor-suit. The new school’s uniform was a blazer and plaid skirt.”
“But some Senior Highs still specify sailor-suits for girls, don’t they? It’s one of those traditions that make Japan so special.”
“Oh yes. But that’s changing. Even in Morioka. And I felt much more grown-up like that!”
“And discovering sex was part of that?”
“I suppose so. I soon made sophisticated new friends. We started having giggly conversations about masturbation, whether they did it and if so how. Walking with special friends with our arms round each other. Helping each other shorten our uniform skirts, hoping the school wouldn't notice.”
“How sweet.”
“Kissing; occasional little feelings and strokings. When we were changing for gym class, comparing breasts and pubic hair – a bit daring, perhaps, but somehow it began to seem very natural. Touching each other’s pussies, rubbing pussies and breasts against each other.”
“And your first boy – boys? Or was it with an older man?”
“No, that came later. A group of girls – including me – were assigned to cleaning the gym after school. We weren’t supervised, we were supposed to be old enough to do it responsibly. One day when we’d finished we sat around talking, and it developed into a sex session. Very innocent, of course; just getting nude together and discovering what lovely feelings we could have from stroking and petting each other. It became our regular thing. And one day some boys burst in. They didn’t know we were there: it wasn’t planned. But when they saw what we were doing, a few of the boldest got out of their uniforms and instructed us to stroke and pet them too. Which, being obedient Japanese girls, we did.”
“How charming. And did they fuck you?”
“No, not really. It started with stroking their cocks. That was a wonderful discovery for me. I just loved the way cocks strengthened and hardened, and were then mine to do what I liked with. And of course the first time a boy came all over my hands was a tremendous moment. I didn’t know what the liquid was, but I loved the smell and the taste. Of course that led to kissing their cocks and sucking them … I was so proud when boys said I did it best and queued up for me to do it to them.”
“And when was your first real man?”
“A bit later. He was a gaijin. I like being fucked by gaijin: they’re much more considerate … he saw me coming down the road after school and watched me. I didn’t mind, I wasn’t afraid: boys had never done me any harm. Anyway, he was quite old. He reminded me of my father. I learned later he was from Austria. Of course at first I thought he meant Australia, and he was a bit annoyed with me about that, but I made it up to him! Anyway, the next day he was there again, and we smiled at each other. And the third day he spoke to me, and my friends left us alone together, and he asked me for a date.”
“And you said yes?”
“Of course! He took me to a nice restaurant, and then he asked me if I’d ever been to a ‘theme’ hotel. Of course I hadn’t, I didn’t know what it was, and he said it would be fun, so we went.”
“And was it fun?”
“Yes! He rented a room with a Roman theme. Naturally I didn’t know much about it, but he helped me dress up as a little Roman slave, and we played a game pretending he’d just bought me at a slave-market and was teaching me how to please him. I loved it! I wore the sweetest little backless minidress – well, a sort of tunic, really – with nothing underneath, of course.”
“I wish I’d seen you,” said Peter.
I looked at him in surprise, and giggled. Here was a man enjoying an intimate conversation with a completely nude girl, and he suddenly thought he would like to see her in a dress. Well, a very sexy dress, but still … men are so strange. I leant back in the big couch and put my hands behind my head, displaying myself in a pose men usually liked. I found I was enjoying myself. These men – Peter the gaijin and Osamu – probably thought that by not letting me have any clothes they were controlling me. But I knew, as every experienced girl does, that if she is clever a naked girl can dominate the men wanting her. The deliciously nude stripper dancing and posing on her brightly lit stage controls the audience’s desire, building up the erotic tension, bringing it down again, giving them intense pleasure by playing with their lust – until at last she, and they, can stand it no longer and she ecstatically receives the tribute of all those erections: her erections, her property to do with as she likes. They weren’t there till she showed herself off nude, but they are there now and she has created them …
“So what did he do to you when you were pretending to be his slave?” Peter was asking.
“He had me three times that evening. It was lovely: my first time with an experienced man. The boys used to come just once, and very quickly. That was thrilling of course, but Kurt – that was his name – gave me much more.”
“It didn’t bother you that he was so much older than you?”
“Of course not! I said, he was like a father to me. Teaching me about a wonderful new world. He used to call me his little girl.”
“Of course Japanese girls often act younger than they really are.”
“M'm, it’s just a game, I suppose. Even so I was a bit put out at first when he called me his lolita: after all, I was seventeen by then and thought I was very grown-up and sophisticated.”
“How long did that last?”
“Only a few months. He suddenly disappeared. Much later I heard he had been deported from Japan. He was a music teacher and gave private lessons, and there was something about earning money on the wrong visa.”
“Poor man! Expelled from paradise …”
Peter shook his head, mourning over the fate of an Austrian music teacher whom he had never known.
“But it didn’t matter,” I said, trying to cheer him up. “He’d introduced me to some of his gaijin friends, so I still had lots of lovely dates with plenty of fucking. Some of his friends were visiting from Tokyo, and when I moved here and started work they remembered me. Soon I began being invited to sex-parties. That was a thrill!”
“For them too, I expect.”
“And I started to be offered escort work. I do enjoy that. It isn’t only the money. It’s wearing lovely clothes, going to the beauty-parlour at someone else’s expense, being taken to the best places and being admired. Men who can afford to pay for that are rich and powerful. I adore being fucked by men like that!”
“How do you fit all that around your job?”
“Well, evenings, weekends … I sit in the office, dreaming, planning, pretending to be busy – and longing for real life to begin again as soon as the day’s work is over! Shizue – the older girl I told you about – is so busy outside the office that we often catch her asleep in front of her computer. She’s a real Chanel Girl.”
“Shaneru?” Peter asked, picking up my Japanese pronunciation of the foreign word.
“That’s right. Didn’t you know?” I wrote the characters in the air with my finger. “‘Sha’ meaning ‘company’ and ‘neru’ for ‘sleep’. ‘Shaneru Girl’ is the word for an OL who has such a busy private life that she only comes to the office to catch up on her sleep.”
“Doesn’t your boss notice?”
“I don’t think so. There’s not much work to do and she’s clever at coming awake quickly when there is. And she flirts with him – very discreetly, but enough to put him in a good mood. Lets him look up her skirt by accident-on-purpose.”
“Like you do,” said Peter with a smile.
“That’s right.”
“Lucky man. Have you done any film or modelling work?”
“Nude photos, you mean? Sex videos?”
“Yes.”
“Well, of course I’ve been photographed and filmed at parties – you know, like you did last night – and I think the results circulate on the net. That’s nice, it gives me a lovely feeling to think that I’m being appreciated. But never professionally.”
“You’d like to, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes – I think it would be fun.”
“Right.” Peter stood up and held out both hands to me. “Come with me and I’ll show you my studio.”
I followed him obediently out of the living-room and he opened a door fitted with a push-button lock. The room was completely dark with no natural light; but after he had pressed a whole bank of switches a series of professional spot-lights came on. There was a cleared area in the centre with a small platform, surrounded by some very expensive-looking cameras on tripods. On the far wall was an X-shaped structure reaching from floor to ceiling: there seemed to be chains dangling from the four corners of the X. I wondered what it was for. (Well, I found out before much longer, but that’s another story!) Peter motioned me to the central posing area and picked up a camera. He looked at me critically as I stood there, and adjusted the lighting and reflective sheets. It felt stimulating to be bathed in light like that.
“Take your belt off,” he said, satisfied at last, “I’d like you completely nude for these shots. Except your lovely shoes, of course. Now try sitting on the edge of the platform – lean back – smile – look sexy – now stand up – I want shots of those gorgeous legs and feet – now turn and look over your shoulder at me …”
It wasn’t as difficult as I had expected. I knew the poses and gestures that made men wild to fuck me, and it was fun trying them out for Peter and his camera. After about half-an-hour he called a halt. I was feeling thoroughly aroused and hoped he was too and would take the opportunity of fucking me. But he was too professional. He went to one of the big closets along one side of the studio and hunted in a drawer.
“Now I’d like you to wear something for me.”
I looked at him in mock astonishment.