Page 5 of The Dragon 1
I elbowed him.
“Some of the clients look bored, like they’ve done this a hundred times. But the new ones? Their eyes are wide, hungry. One guy passed us sweating through his suit jacket like he’d been dropped into the middle of a wet dream he wasn’t prepared for.” I paused, catching sight of a door near the end of the hall—black lacquer, a crimson symbol painted across it. “Private room. The symbol is one I don’t recognize. I’ll need to ask Jun later.”
Tokyo’s underground sex industry was what I had to write about. My heart and mind craved to drink it all in. The need burned in my veins. As I stood among these enticing females, watching them lure men and their wallets to the bathing areas-similar to Homer’s Sirens drawing sailors to a rocky death, I filled with energy.
Every detail had to be absorbed, every image devoured until it was imprinted in my memory forever.
Goodness. These women are even more beautiful than the pictures on the website.
All around me, these enticing creatures escorted men to bathing areas.Make-up decorated exotic faces. Jewels glittered along slender necks and dangled from ears.
I spotted dresses that would've damaged my already depleted bank account and inhaled some of the sweetest perfumes lingering in the air.
Men of all different races, sizes, and ages coupled with mainly Japanese women, although I noticed a few blondes and other females with complexions as dark brown as mine.
“Are you sure the manager is going to let you observe everything?” Zo raised a blond eyebrow. “Even the soapy massages?”
“That was the deal.” Tucking a few of my kinky curls behind my ear, I returned to my recorder.
The little machine had seen better days. Scratches covered the sides. Paint scraped the front. Duct tape kept the batteries in.
We headed down the hall and entered another space with marble stairs, lush carpeting, and sparkling chandlers.
Brilliant centerpieces rested on every table, consisting of heart-shaped glasses, platinum beads, and dozens of candles intertwined with flowers.
Tons of half-naked women pampered the men at those tables; massaging their shoulders, pouring them sake even a few singing and dancing in taunting movements.
Their feminine laughter filled the place and even made me a bit giddy.
This is perfect for my book.
It was an adult circus for the dark and erotic part of the soul.
Waiters carried out immaculate dishes with simmering meats and creamy sauces that emitted a heavenly aroma.
A huge fountain of chocolate stood in the center.
I watched two Ethiopian women dunk slices of cake into the sweet liquid and then feed it to the men next to them.
On the far right of the staircase was a full bar.
On the left, a long buffet table where six nude women lounged on their backs.
Pearl masks covered their faces.
Various types of sushi decorated their tan flesh.
Many of the male customers crowded around them. Some men dipped their chopsticks between the women's legs.
Now talk about catering to the senses.
Lust swam inside my core, craving to burst out of my pores and take me over. But I had a book to complete, as well as a writing career and credit score to save.
Pleasure had to wait for another day.
Zo stopped us by the bar, “Okay where’s this manager at?”
“We’re supposed to go to his office.”
