Mexican Girl (Yoyogi)

In the still of the night her eyes were too big, her mouth too large, but those were the details that drew me when I saw her in the small, dark Tokyo club.

I tried to use my broken Japanese with her.

She looked at me, bored, and then answered in English: "I am Mexican."

I laughed as if it was some funny joke and I decided to play her game.

"Then you like tequila," I said. She smiled at my silly comment and accepted the margarita I ordered for her.

"You don't look Mexican," I said.

"My grandparents migrated after the war. They were Japanese," she replied.

She was wiry, almost too thin, her jeans seemed one size bigger than they should have been and it seemed that she had stolen her white shirt from her brother. Still, she looked sophisticated and unbothered.

I didn't know what else to say, so I left her to talk to some friends.

However, through the night, I kept going back. Other men went to chat with her, but nobody stayed too long, and I always found her alone. Our conversations didn't amount to much, I wanted to get her interested but she treated me like one of many guys. What I got to know was that her name was Amalia, but this seemed just an extra detail suited to her Mexican persona, which I still found hard to believe.

It was very late when she suggested leaving together; I wasn't sure what to expect, nothing that it had happened before seemed to indicate we shared an attraction, but surely I wanted to be with her.

I followed her in the elevator, which brought us to the underground floor, a large, deserted parking lot made of concrete. She pulled me against a pillar, unzipped my fly, and lowered her jeans. Her waist was so narrow that she slid them down without actually opening them.

I could see for a short moment the drawn lines of her pelvis and the thick, black bush of her pussy, just before she inserted my dick into herself. She clenched to my back strongly, almost painfully, her nails scratching the skin below my shirt.

I could feel her coming quickly, soon she started moaning softly, so I accelerated my thrusts, just before sliding out of her to ejaculate on her thighs.

"Why didn't you come inside?" she asked, wiping her legs with a Kleenex.

"It wasn't right, " I replied.

She smiled: "I like you but I am leaving tomorrow for Mexico City. Give me your number, I'll call you when I'll be back."

I saw her leaving, her petite silhouette disappearing in the night, unable to think anything to let her stay.

She didn't call for weeks until I gave up.

One day, at work, I got a call.

"Hi, I am Amalia, I am back. Are you upset with me?"

"Well...not really...why should I be?"

"Do you want to see me again? Because if you want to, you'd better be upset with me."

"Ok...then I am...very angry!"

"Good...are you free tomorrow night?"

"Yes."

"Then come to my place, it's near Yoyogi Park, let's say at eight."

It was a two-story modern house, in a quiet neighborhood where everything smelled of money and sophistication.

She opened the door, smiling slightly. She wore a simple, white cotton dress, almost transparent. I could see through the little brown discs of her nipples.

if she wasn't Mexican, she was trying hard. Inside the house was completely different from the outside. It was completely white, with very colorful carpets and objects, many inspired by the images of the Santa Muerte.

"Are you still angry at me?" she whispered.

I didn't say anything.

She dropped her dress and remained completely naked while leading me through the house into the basement.

Her shoulders were dark, well-tanned, only her buttocks and her breasts were white as snow, the shape of her bikini clearly marked. Her back was lean, like a plank of polished wood.

The basement was bare. There was a large, jute carpet on the floor and a brown table pushed against a wall. On top of it, there was a whip made of leather.

"Punish me."

I looked at her in shock.

"You are angry, isn't it?" She stared at me, coldly."I wasn't in Mexico City. I was fucking another guy here in Tokyo. What do you think about that?"

I looked at her naked body facing me, with the whip in my hands, I desired her and I wanted her now, I didn't care if yesterday she had slept with another guy.

"This is the only way you can have me," she said as if she was issuing an ultimatum.

She turned her back and pushed her small, muscular ass toward me.

I raised my hand and I hit her: I was going to have her, in any way she might wish.

Soon her buttocks were covered by red marks.

I undressed and I remained in my briefs.

She turned to me and smiled, her face covered with sweat." I love you," she said.

I couldn't resist any longer, I slipped a condom on and I penetrated her.

My cock slipped into her effortlessly, she was waiting for me. I put my hands on her sweating back as she moved her ass, gyrating slowly.

I could smell her fresh blood, this excited me even more. I slipped out of her, and I laid down on the floor. She didn't lose time, jumped on me, and started riding me. Her beautiful face looked distorted by the pleasure, her hair entangled.

While searching for her orgasm, her eyes were on me, but she was looking beyond me.

I could feel her movements becoming more precise, her vulva adhering more completely to my penis, its shaft fully devoured by her lower mouth.

She came and I followed soon, the pleasure so strong that seemed to never end.

She rested lying on top of me, our bodies glued together, our sexes still connected.

Everything had happened so fast and intensely to seem unreal.

"Let's go upstairs."

The large living room remained in the dark; the lights of the night - the moon, some distant light pole- filtered through the large glass windows.

She went to have a shower and I remained naked and alone, in the alien house. I felt like a thief who had broken in.

She came back, and I went to shower myself.

When I came back, she was cooking, a simple apron on her naked body, her ass exposed to show me the welts, results of the whipping.

"I love to see you naked. I love to see your cock." I got closer to her and she took it in her hand. It reacted immediately.

"Let's save it for later," she said smiling.

I went to browse her CD, mostly Latino music, and I put on a guitar disc, which seemed the most suitable to the night and our quiet moods.

She had fixed a fajita filling, with meat, pepper, and tomatoes and we ate it with some tortillas she warmed in the microwave oven.

Now and then my hands searched for her body, bolder and bolder until a couple of my fingers slipped in her wetness. We stopped eating and we fucked again on the sofa.

Before I finished, she took my dick into her mouth, made me come, and swallowed my semen.

"My dessert..." she commented smiling.

"It's time for mine," I said, and I went down on her.

I could taste her fresh juices, but also the traces of my passage. I penetrated her as deeply as I could with my tongue until I felt her releasing any tension.

She put her hand on my head as if she was afraid I would leave her at that threshold unsatisfied.

Later, listening to the music, she looked at me seriously and said: "You are too kind to me. You are spoiling me. Learn to deny me my pleasure. By the way, I indeed lied to you: I didn't fuck somebody else here in Tokyo. I really went to Mexico City; but I still need you to punish me."

Why? In the end, she hadn't denied that she had fucked somebody else still, it wasn't my business whom she met and why.

She took me to the door and handed me the key of the house. "You can come whenever you want, but I am not sure you'll find me."

"I'll call before coming anyway."

She kissed me passionately and waved me goodbye at the door, stark naked, without caring of the attraction she might draw from the neighbors.

In the next few days, I called her repeatedly - I didn't know how seriously I should take her offer, but she never answered the phone, so I accepted the fact that the only way to meet her was to go to her place unannounced.

Finally, one evening desire and curiosity took over and I went to see her.

When I rang the bell of the house nobody answered.

Then I used the key and I walked in.

She was sitting on the sofa, listening to music.

"Hi," Amalia said, barely recognizing me.

"Hi - you didn't answer my calls, you don't answer the door..."

"You are here anyway, right?"

"You gave me the key..."

"So why all this bullshit? You are here for my pussy, isn't it?"

She was wearing a white shirt, as she often did, and a short blue-jeans skirt.

My eyes roamed on her bare, tanned legs.

"You like the sun, it's unusual for a Japanese girl."

"Not that unusual. And I am not Japanese, I am Mexican."

"Did you really go to Mexico last month?"

"Shall I show you the ticket?" she answered derisively.

"You want to piss me off."

"You are boring...you just happened to be in the neighborhood? Look, I might be leaving soon. You can stay."

"You are not going anywhere," I replied angrily.

She laughed. "How are you stopping me?"

On an impulse, I stood, undid my belt, and tied her hands to her back. Then I went down to the basement and retrieved the whip.

When I came back I saw that she had waited patiently for me, a sparkle in her eyes.

"Are you going to punish me because I didn't answer your calls? Because I didn't open the door? Because I didn't suck your dick when you came in?"

Without saying a word I pushed her against the low coffee table, raised her skirt to the waist, lowered her panties on her thighs, and started whipping her, ferociously. Her hips swung, under my blows, and she cried out in pain but didn't try to escape. The view of her plump lower lips from behind was irresistible, and soon I slipped into her.

I could feel my dick hard into her, and her pussy clenching on it. When we came I undid her hands and she fell on the sofa, satisfied and happy. I lied next to her, undoing the condom.

"You don't lose the habit," she commented laughing.

"It's a form of respect."

"By now you should know you shouldn't respect me. I get too much of that."

My hands roamed on her body, firm and lean. It was like she was wired for pleasure; I could feel her reacting to my touch, longing for it.

I penetrated her pussy with my hands, and she let me do it, turning her head back.

I loved to see her getting her pleasure, abandoning her bored, inexpressive mask; lust transformed her.

She came with her head touching my chest, almost shivering.

She rested like that for a while, and then she fixed a drink.

"Margarita, right?" it was my turn to smile.

In the silence of the house, holding a drink, with her at my side, I felt completely happy, a happiness that her mysteries didn't dispel, but enhanced.

After that evening, many more came, evenings and nights. There was a predictable pattern, the initial distance, the whippings, and then the sex, followed by music, silence, and drinks. Sometimes more whippings followed and always more sex. I loved the surrender of her mouth violated by my penis, still coated in her juices. I loved to extract those juices from her wet pussy, as I licked it deeply.

Sometimes we fell asleep; more often she did while I looked at her, defenseless in my arms.

A couple of times she wasn't there and I waited patiently. On those occasions, she returned completely drunk, stripped as soon as she saw me, and required the harshest punishments for what she had done.

I imagined unspeakable sexual acts between her and other men and women; I welcomed jealousy to take over and I performed what she expected. Then I had her wherever we were, at the entrance, on the sofa, and after I let herself shower and come back for more.

Those nights I left after bringing her to bed, her bronzed body against the white sheets, and left the house, hungry for more, hungry to find a sober Amalia to cancel the hunger I felt for the drunk Amalia.

One day I arrived to find her waiting for me. She was wearing a long, white T-shirt.

"Let's go," she said. We went to the garage where together with a little city car was parked a white convertible Mercedes.

As we boarded she flashed the dark patch of her pussy.

I wasn't too surprised, but I wondered what she was aiming to.

We took the Tokyo metropolitan highway and I could see we were heading south.

At a certain point we were on smaller roads, the houses became sparse and finally, we reached a street siding the ocean.

A couple of bars were still opened, but she stopped at an isolated parking lot, facing the beach.

"Do you still desire me?"

"Yes, why?"

"You know I am naked below this t-shirt..." and saying so she took it off, remaining naked.

"You didn't try to touch me."

"You were driving.".

"Were you afraid of dying with me?"

"Everybody is afraid of dying."

"Not everybody."

She ran to the ocean and jumped into the water.

I saw her from the shore and after a brief moment I felt assured that drowning was not the way she had chosen to die. Still, the salty water was cold and the recent welts I had inflicted on her should sting sharply.

She played with the waves and then came back shivering. "Fuck me!" she ordered and I complied, while she lied with her back on the car trunk, her legs spread open in front of me, her body trembling but thirsty for sex.

I licked it, salty and wet, I sucked her erected nipples, made rock hard by cold.

She turned and offered me her muscular buttocks on impulse, I penetrated her anus and she let out a little cry.

I came inside her, and then she went back to the sea to clean herself.

"You bastard..." she whispered coming back, smiling.

Then she wore her T-shirt, without waiting to dry and we drove back to her place.

The last day I saw her I had reached the house at 10 in the evening.

"You are always late," she said irritably.

I was tired of her games and I thought that if I was going to use the whip on her, this time I would make sure that she won't forget it easily.

But quickly she suggested that we go somewhere to have a drink and left me to dress for the night. When she came back she was wearing a short, shiny silver dress and impeccable makeup.

I thought she looked like a very expensive woman, and very beautiful.

My mood had improved considerably as we climbed into a taxi that took us to a residential area in Azabu.

Here we went down a flight of stairs and we knocked on a large wooden door.

The Japanese young man, formally dressed, who came to open looked at me and Amalia, slightly amused, and let us in.

It was just another small bar like many others in Tokyo, very slickly designed, with European design furniture.

Beside us, there was only another customer, a very beautiful Japanese girl who was sitting at the counter drinking alone.

"Do you like her? You can have her," said Amalia, whose mood had also improved.

As if she had heard her, the girl stood and I could get a look at her elegant body as she moved toward us.

She had scarlet lips, round, full hips, that swung slowly and enticingly, full breasts that ripened through her generous cleavage.

She sat next to me, and without saying a word she kissed me passionately and left.

"See? She likes you," said my companion.

The other girl, back to her seat waved her hand at me, smiling. Her eyes, black like hematite, shone in the dark.

"What place is this? Is she a prostitute?"

"You can't conceive anything beyond your narrow categories. You can't conceive that she felt like fucking you from the moment you came in and that I might let you go and enjoy yourself."

"But I like you, not her," I said, and she laughed derisively.

"I am sorry, your mistake."

it was like the girl at the counter could hear our conversation, because frowning slightly she stood and left the room.

"You can still follow her.. " continued Amalia, as my eyes followed the sweet wiggling of the girl.

"I enjoy your company more, let's have our drinks."

I had a whisky, which she matched with a Southern Comfort. Soon we asked for a second round, as we didn't have much to talk about.

I asked her about Mexico, and she said that there she had no personality, she was just a tool in the hands of her very rich family.

"I wish you could come" she added, and she seemed sincere.

I stood and I headed for the restroom.

It was the same direction taken by the girl before, and I realized she hadn't come back yet.

Maybe she had left the place without me noticing...then I turned my eyes to a half-opened door in the small room before the toilet.

An intense light was coming from inside, and I could see a bed, the girl lying on it, completely naked, her wrists handcuffed to the bed's frame, a red leather collar on her neck, a metal tag dangling from it. Suddenly she turned her head in my direction and smiled as she had seen me.

Mechanically I walked through, disturbed by that vision. If she wasn't a prostitute, what was happening here? Was her attraction to me sincere? Why Amalia had taken me to this place?

I finished peeing and I returned. As I passed by, the door was closed. Had the girl meant to invite me in? Had I snubbed her again? The most sensible thought was that the door was open by mistake, the smile in my direction casual, and I had no real part in the scene played behind the door.

When I went back to the bar, two men were talking to Amalia. Both were dressed in bespoke suits, one was huge, with short hair and a very muscular body; the other smaller, both tanned.

As I got closer they left Amalia alone and as I sat the shorter one looked friendly at me; in this place, everybody seemed to have an instant liking of me.

"Who are they?" I asked Amalia.

"Businessmen," she replied, "They might want to have a proposition you."

A waiter came with two drinks. "These are from those gentlemen. They want a word with you, alone."

The shorter man with a gesture of his hand invited me to sit with them.

"I'll wait for you here," said Amalia.

As I joined them my host extended his hand.

"Toshihiro Miki, " he introduced himself, " but my foreign friends call me Tosh."

The huge one followed suit: "Shigeru Nakazaki"- as expected, his handshake was steely.

"The female you have taken to us is not at our standard levels," Tosh said abruptly, in a very good English, with the occasional Japanese inflection.

"We like to purchase only the very best, as you have seen already," and now the girl reentered the room and sat with us, smiling at me. She still had the red collar and the tag on, which I was sure she didn't wear the first time I had seen her. I could see that the tag had two Chinese characters and a number.

"I can see you are attracted by Eri - we can put her in the package; she can be yours. "

I looked at the girl, trying to understand her reaction. Was I reading some kind of desperation and hope in her eyes? Did she need to be rescued?

"This will be on top of the 25 Million Yen we are willing to pay for your friend."

I turned to Amalia in shock, she smiled at me, thumb and index were touching, the other three fingers extended, everything was going well.

"She said she is yours, to use and sell." I looked at her again and she nodded. Did she know what we were talking about?

"That's not true, " I whispered.

"We are used to these arrangements, so you don't need to be shy. More often we have to resort to kidnapping though, very few surrender willingly," said Tosh smiling.

"She is not that beautiful but she seems still untamed, I would enjoy y breaking her. She seems a rich, spoilt girl that doesn't know her place yet. I will make of her a little domestic purring cat, " and saying so caressed Eri below the chin, who accepted that gesture lowering slightly the head, pleased by that acknowledgment.