tagFetishSurprise Adventure in Tokyo

Surprise Adventure in Tokyo


My name is Emi Haneko Adams, a 26-year-old 4th generation American, half-Japanese on my mother's side and half-American on my father's side. My parents met at USC in the 1970s while my mother was an exchange student. With my "hapa" (half-Japanese) features, I was sought after during my teens and early 20s as a popular model in Japan, Hawaii, and California. I starred in countless ads for fashionable clothing, cosmetics, and more recently, high-end lingerie. It helped that I was 5'8" in height with firm breasts, small waist, 110 lbs., with natural pouty lips, fine shoulder-lengthp hair, and long, shapely legs—perfect assets for modeling jobs.

Almost a "supermodel" by Asian standards, I had steady jobs and earned enough from many gigs to finance my college education at UCLA, ending with a double major in international business and Japanese studies. Now 26 years old, I was ready for a career as a consultant in Japan for corporations doing business in the USA. Being bilingual and bicultural (and not bad-looking!) should give me an advantage.

Shortly after graduation, my boy friend of one year, Masa Ishida from Tokyo, made an offer that I could hardly refuse. Already back in Japan, he emailed me to visit him at his family home in Izu, not far from Tokyo. Masa was from a wealthy family with many businesses based in the Tokyo area and lived in their second home in Jogahama, a "second home" city for Tokyo millionaires.

I immediately accepted, knowing that it would be a perfect chance for me to explore consultant opportunities in Tokyo, while enjoying the beautiful neighborhood and grand scenery of Jogahama, an area renown for its rugged, rocky coastline. Masa had one small request: pick up a package in Hawaii on the way to Tokyo. I didn't ask why since he was picking up the cost for the plane fare. Anyway, it would be a good chance to stop in Hawaii for a few days.

Set to depart in a few days on Japan Air Lines from LAX, I began packing for the trip--shorts, t-shirts, and bikinis for the Honolulu stopover--and more professional clothes for meetings in Japan. It was still late May, so it was not necessary to pack a lot of warm clothes. I settled on lighter "cool biz" (cool business) clothing appropriate for the many business meetings I expected, and more comfortable during the warmer summer months in June to August. "Cool biz" was the best thing that the Japanese government promoted to conserve energy; everyone was encouraged to dress more casually during the summer, including ditching the mandatory black business suits worn year-round.

I decided that I should not dress too casually, despite the "cool biz" campaign; potential contractors probably looked down on foreigners who dressed too casually. In addition to dark business skirts and coats, I also packed my finest lingerie and hosiery—one of my few pleasures. I got hooked on sexy lingerie and stockings while doing some modeling for Secrets in Lace and similar lingerie companies. With my long, wavy brown hair, blue-green eyes, and slender build, I was especially in demand for lingerie ads.

At first, I was uncomfortable posing provocatively in the finest panties and bras before mostly guys in the studio. I also had to model high quality hosiery ranging from pantyhose to RHT stockings and seamed full-fashioned stockings—but I got used to it and considered it as just a job. But the sexy feel of wearing garter belts and stockings aroused me so much that I had to be careful to not soak my nearly transparent panties. There were photo shoots when I had to carry tissue to soak up the pussy juices. After shoots, I would often get to keep the lingerie and stockings, so I accumulated quite a stash of sexy underclothing over the years. I had become an addict of sexy underwear!

I rejected the trend toward cheap pantyhose and, worse, no hosiery at all! I enjoyed the sleek, sensual feel of 10-15 denier stockings held up by erotic garter belts and supplemented by the sheerest panties available. I was hooked by vintage hosiery made by Dior, Hanes, Belle-Sharmeer, and other fine manufacturers of first-class stockings. My favorites were RHT and seamed stockings, which hinted at what was hidden beneath my more conventional clothing. For this trip to Japan, I planned to surprise Masa with my sexiest outfits. He had not seen me for a few months and would be beside himself when he gave me a "feel job" and discovered the prizes awaiting him! It never failed to get him all turned on when I wore my favorite lingerie and nylons.

The departure date finally came and I made my way to LAX a couple of hours early. The JAL flight was on time, as expected by Japanese punctuality. I checked in my one suitcase and proceeded to the TSA security check area. I presented my American passport and boarding pass to the TSA agent and was directed to the inspection line. My only concern was that I was wearing a six-strap garter belt and stockings under my comfortable sweater dress. I just hoped that the metal garter clips would not set off the TSA alarms! On many occasions, I had slipped through TSA security without any problems. Perhaps I had become complacent.

Removing my 3" sling back shoes, I realized that I was wearing RHT stockings! Oh, well, perhaps no one would notice or care since they were so rare. I also took out my MacBook Air and placed it in a separate tray. My carry-on bag was next. Would the TSA inspector notice that I had a truckload of lingerie and stockings? Would all the metal garter clasps get their attention as potential explosive devices?

Everything on the conveyor belt passed through OK. Then, the TSA inspector asked me to step to the side for wanding. A little nervous, I stepped behind a partition with two feet printed on the floor. The male TSA agent instructed me to hold up my arms and to spread my feet apart. "I'm sorry, ma'am, there's no other agents available, so I will have to conduct the wanding."

I replied, "That's OK, go ahead." The TSA agent ran the metal detecting wand along my arms, then down my sides, around my waist, then down my legs. He paused mid-thigh when the wand detected the metal garter clasps. He paused and advised me that he would have to manually examine me. He then ran his hands up and down my upper legs and stroked the garter straps a couple of times, trying to determine what he was feeling. "What's this?"

"I'm wearing old-fashioned nylon stockings held up by garters. It's more comfortable than pantyhose. Do you really need to check?"

The agent replied, "I'm sorry, but I will have to verify that." He crouched down and proceeded to lift up the hem of my sweater dress and ran his hands up both my legs—up the outside inside of my thighs, then inside, and back up along the back of my thighs. He delicately stroked the sleek nylon stockings and paused at my stocking tops, and continued up to the back of my sheer panties. He was kneeling down as he closely inspected my upper legs, his face a few inches from my legs—perhaps more thoroughly than necessary. I could feel his hot breath on my thighs. After feeling me up more than adequately, he seemed satisfied. He lowered the hem of my dress and said, "OK, you are free to go."

I noticed that he had difficulty standing, and that he had a huge pointy bulge in his trousers when he got up! I retrieved my sling back shoes and put them back on, as well as the rest of my carry-on luggage. I must admit that I was got moist from being molested by a TSA agent. His stroking of my nylon-covered legs reminded me too well of Masa's foreplay when he warmed me up before plunging his huge dick into my pussy. I would see him soon enough after arriving in Japan. I could hardly wait.

Part II

The flight from LAX to Honolulu was heavenly. Masa was really generous in getting me business class on JAL. I was treated like a princess with extra wonderful service, fine dining, and unlimited drinks. The six-hour flight seemed fairly short. We landed in the early evening and I quickly got to my hotel in Waikiki by taxi. Masa again was very generous and booked an oceanfront suite at the Sheraton Waikiki Hotel.

After checking in, I unpacked and prepared to take a nice, long shower. I slipped out of my sling back shoes and took off my sweater dress, leaving me in my lacy bra, matching garter belt, and dark stockings. I was about to hit the shower, but I had a naughty idea for a little adventure in paradise. I slipped on the hotel's white bathrobe and slippers and headed to the elevator. In the in-flight magazine, I had read about the Sheraton Waikiki's unique "infinity pool" which seemed to disappear into the horizon.

It was already night, so I had a risqué idea to slip into the pool in my underwear and stockings. Everybody would be busy partying on Kalakaua Avenue, the main drag through Waikiki, so I should have the pool all to myself. I don't know why, but wet stockings have been a fantasy of mine for a long time, especially in risky outdoor settings. I guess I am an exhibitionist at heart—which may explain why I enjoyed modeling sexy lingerie and stockings in front of guys with hard-ons!

When I got downstairs and poolside, sure enough, there was no one around. I found a deck chair next to the pool and pulled off my bathrobe, leaving me only in my lingerie and dark tan RHT stockings. I stepped into the pool. After the long flight from LAX, it felt so refreshing to immerse myself in the cool pool. I stroked my wet stockings and sheer panties and could feel myself heating up inside.

The pool lights illuminated my body as I swam back and forth in the 20-meter long pool—then I suddenly realized that someone in a balcony above could see me half-naked! But then, I thought, who cares. After over 20 minutes in the pool, I stepped out and covered myself up with the bathrobe. I retired to my suite for a good night's rest. Next day, I was supposed to meet someone at the hotel to pick up a package for Masa.

Part III

Next morning, all I knew was that the person I was to meet was a local guy named "Kimo." Masa described him as a part-Hawaiian, about 30, 5'10", and husky. We were supposed to meet in the lobby of the Sheraton Waikiki Hotel at 8 sharp. I would recognize him in his Town & Country surfing t-shirt and red board shorts. Sure enough, a guy fitting Masa's description showed up exactly at 8. I went up to him and verified that he was Kimo. After he was satisfied that I was Masa's girl friend, all he said was, "Here's the package for Masa." That was it! The package was nondescript, weighed about two pounds, and about the size of a loaf of bread. My assignment, if I chose to accept it, was to take it to Tokyo and deliver it to Masa. Before I could say anything, Kimo was gone.

Next thing for me was to pack up for the next day's flight. I would get a good night's sleep after dining alone at the Halekulani Hotel's La Mer Restaurant, one of the finest in Hawaii.

I checked out the next morning and took a limo to the airport for my early afternoon flight to Haneda International Airport. Masa had booked me in business class so that I would be pampered during the nine-hour flight. For this leg, I decided to dress up suitably for business class. Under a loose-fitting, comfortable sundress, I wore my sexiest lingerie—matching sheer baby blue bra, lacy garter belt, and hi-cut panties complemented by the sheerest Hanes RHT stockings in my favorite color, Barely There.

Hanes stockings were impossible to find in stores, but readily available online through eBay at $20-30 per pair. Over the years, I stocked up on my favorite size, 9-1/2 long, which perfectly fit my long, slender legs. I never bothered with slips, so at times, my garter belt straps and stocking tops showed through any light-colored dress or skirt I might be wearing. My sundress was off-white, so the garter straps, metal clips, and dark stocking tops peeked through upon close inspection—but no one expects to see stockings nowadays, so I wasn't concerned at all. My pussy got worked up, though, as I knew what I secretly wore underneath my normal-looking clothing.

I had to go through TSA screening at the Honolulu International Airport. This time, I again had to remove my shoes, exposing my dark reinforced heels and toes. But this time, I had also had to undergo a new full body scan recently installed as a pilot project. The thought of some screener viewing the body scan image excited me. It would be like a strip search! Inside the scanner, I had to raise my arms and spread my legs. I wonder what the screener was able to see—probably the clear outline of my underwear and perhaps my stockings! The TSA agent waved me through to pick up my shoes, laptop, and the rest of my carry-on baggage. Relieved, I proceeded to the first-class lounge to wait for early boarding.

The boarding and flight were uneventful and we arrived as scheduled at Haneda International Airport. The only thing that concerned me was that the questionnaire form given to passengers asked whether I had received anything from anyone to take on the flight. I didn't think anything of it and marked "no" on the form. I lied, actually—and it could come back to bite me. Should I have said, "yes?" I had no idea what was in the package—I was only asked to pick up a package in Honolulu. No big deal, right?

I fortunately cleared customs and immigration control at Haneda without any problems. I was so relieved! I caught a cab and proceeded straight to the Shinagawa Prince Hotel where I was supposed to receive further instructions about the package and how to meet up later with Masa. It seemed a little mysterious, but I trusted that Masa knew what he was doing.

I checked in at the hotel and quickly slipped off my shoes and sundress to take a long, hot shower—stockings and all. It was actually efficient to take a bath and do some laundry at the same time. It felt so great to completely refresh myself after a long flight and a little stress going through customs and immigration. The hot water streamed down my lithe body leaving my sheer panties nearly transparent. My dark hose got even darker as it was soaked through. I would sleep well tonight!

Part IV

The next morning, I got a call from the front desk about a message left for me during the evening. The note simply said, "Bring the package and all your baggage to the front lobby by 6 pm tonight. You will be met by a chauffeur who will take you to meet Masa." It seemed a little strange that Masa would not be coming to pick me up, but I was sure he had a reason—I figured that Masa must be busy and could not meet me in person. So, I had the whole day to go shopping at my favorite department stores in Tokyo—Tobu and Mitsukoshi. I would buy some special clothes to dress up for Masa! I already knew what I was going to wear in the evening to see Masa—a white strapless slip dress that I picked up in LA. It was so sexy, especially with fine lingerie and stockings underneath to get Masa excited!

I was packed and ready to go at 6, and waiting anxiously in the lobby. I still had no idea what was in the package I picked up in Honolulu, but that wasn't my business. I was only the courier. At 6 sharp, a nicely dressed guy in his 30s entered the lobby and introduced himself in English with a heavy Japanese accent. "Hi, I Jiro. I come take you to Masa. Please let me take bags."

"Hi, I'm Emi. Pleased to meet you. Thank you for coming to get me."

"This way, please. The car waiting in driveway." Jiro swiftly walked out of the lobby with my suitcase and carry-on bag. By the time I caught up with him, my bags were already in the trunk. Jiro opened the rear door for me and waved me into the back seat. As I slid in, my slip dress rode up my thighs and exposed some dark stocking tops. Jiro was bowing as I got in the car, so he probably got an eyeful of my stocking-clad legs. I thought I detected a slight grin as he slowly closed the car door.

Jiro stepped into the driver's seat on the right side. "Please relax. It take 20-30 minutes."

"OK," I replied, "that's fine. By the way, where are we going?"

"We going to Tsukiji waterfront area. Masa wait for you."

"Hmmm," I thought, "why would we be going to the waterfront in the evening? I was expecting to go to an entertainment district of Tokyo, somewhere like Shinjuku or Shimbashi. Oh, well, Masa must have a good reason. Maybe he has a surprise for me--like I have for him."

As we navigated our way from the Shinagawa area near Haneda Airport toward the Tsukiji district, I was feeling excited about seeing Masa again after a couple of months apart. Not wearing any bra, my nipples firmed up against the silky slip dress. I let my left hand stroke my bare breasts under the silky slip dress while my right hand stroked my garter belt straps and metal clips through the thin slip dress. I imagined Masa's hands roaming up and down my nylon-clad legs. The thin nylon slip dress slid easily over my sheer stockings. My fingers slid under the hem of my slip dress and made their way to my stocking tops, then across my bare upper thighs. I stroked my moist pussy through the sheer nylon of my scanty panties. The mere thought of Masa giving me a finger job got me worked up. I caught myself moaning a little when I noticed that Jiro was looking behind in the rear view mirror.

"We almost there, so you see boy friend soon."

Did he know what I was up to in the back seat? "Wait," I thought, "Where are we? We are far from the busy districts of Tokyo. I don't recognize anything. There are warehouses and shacks here—no office buildings or hotels." "Jiro," I asked, "where are we?" I was feeling a little nervous. It was so dark and spooky out here—not even street lights.

Jiro turned around and smiled, "You have big surprise waiting, I promise." With that, he suddenly turned into a graveled parking lot next to the wharf. It was pitch black with no lights at all. There was only one tiny shack ahead made of corrugated iron—one small window showing some light inside. As the car pulled up the shack, a huge, burly guy came out of the shadows. He came up to the car and opened the door on Emi's side. Jiro called out to his partner, "Goro, take her inside."

"OK, get out," the 6-foot tall hulk commanded in broken English. I hesitated a second too long. Goro grabbed my slender wrist and yanked me out. The hulk picked me up like a bag of rice and hauled me to the shack in a fireman's carry, my stomach on his huge shoulder and legs dangling in front. His grubby hands grasped my stocking-clad thighs, with stubby fingers wrapped around my stocking tops. I kicked and flailed, flopping around on his shoulder, but to no avail. "Let me down, now!"

He ignored me as he hauled me into the shack and threw me down on a filthy mattress. I was now flat on my back with legs splayed open, exposing everything up to my sheer panties. I quickly pulled my slip dress down and tried to cover up. The hulk was menacingly huge with an enormous chest and hairy arms. I was afraid of what he was going to do to me.

Goro salivated at the sight before him. He now remembered Emi from countless ads everywhere in Tokyo—in trains, subways, on gigantic LED billboards in Shibuya. Her beautifully perfect hapa face and tall, slender body was so common that she was affectionately called, "Emi-chan," in social media. Goro had fantasized that one day, he could fuck someone so beautiful and desirable. This was a dream come true for him—but a brutal nightmare for Emi.

Goro opened up her purse which had fallen on the tiled floor, still covered with fish scales and unidentifiable scraps. The shack smelled of rotten fish. He found her passport and ID card. "Emi Haneko Hoshida, U.S. citizen, born in San Francisco, 1986, resident of Los Angeles."

"You no need these," Goro said. He tossed the ID and passport out the window of the shack into Tokyo Bay.

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