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He draws away from you, finding cover in the shade around the edge of thelarge room where the dim light cannot penetrate. The table lining the wallsand the many hooks on the walls themselves are laden with the innumerabletools of Master's trade. He returns to you with a strip of dark silk, hebinds your eyes with it and you are without sight. You hear nothing.Minutes draw out and still nothing.A prick! You cry out more for the shock of it than the pain, but he painslowly sets in. Another then another!, they are relentless and move overyou tender skin. Picking you over your belly unceasingly. You moan in pain,“please!” You whimper, uncontrollably, unsure as to how to react to thisnew sensation. There is no word from your master. Instead you feel hisfingers dance lightly over your clit and labia drawing out that softfeeling of ecstacy from within you. The pricks are not more slow anddeliberate, wandering more painfully towards between your legs. You gasp atthe thought of what is. He shook his head, said something in the language, and pointed to me instead. Jessica got sent to the last guy.I was told my customer was named “Jerry.” That was an Americanized name, I figured. I hoped I could get his real name so I could address him properly. I didn’t know Japanese customs, but I did know people paid a lot of attention for rules and procedures.The name on Jerry’s door was written in those pictographs that made it impossible to figure out, or even if it was his name on the door.He looked at me as I followed him into the office, and then simply waved me to the side of the room.I went in the direction I was sent, removed my kimono, and sat in a half-sitting, half-kneeling position. Each arm was placed on my thighs with my hands on my knees. Nobody told me to do this, but it seemed the proper thing to do. It showed my status as a whore and I was available for service. I’m not sure where I got the idea, but it made sense.Although I knew the Japanese had all sorts of.
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