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Never got enough of seeing her pink luscious genital orifice show itself as the drapes hiding the inside of it opened and exposed the lush pliable pudding hiding behind them. No, I would never tire of that. I was a little lost in thought as I watched her lay there. I was brought back to my senses as she began to run her hands up and down her thighs. Over and over, her hands rubbed, touching her skin, auburn as it was, in places that needed to be caressed. Over the tops of her thighs, up to her knees, and back down the inside of her thighs, her fingers played, manipulated, stimulated what I could tell was sensual feelings. I heard slight moans escape her horizontal lips and I watched her vertical ones begin to quiver. It was like a small spasm pushing her opening in and out, very slowly, in anticipation of the climax. I intended on giving her a climax; a climax she would remember and all I had to do was use my voice. She continued with wandering hands and fingers, up and down both. The Courtyard was a circular hall, curving concrete supports disappearing up into the ceiling, where a large opening gave the impression of opening up to daylight, even though it was past 10pm in Tokyo. Terraces circled elegantly around that central garden, many with their own bars and small cafes while wooden ramps and steps joined them up to each other. The Courtyard was as much, if not moreso a social hub as it was a place for clients to meet their hostesses. Nonetheless, every bartender, every barista and every waitress proudly wore the tattooed collar on her neck, signalling without words that they, too, could be bought at a moments notice and taken to someplace private to be ravished in any way desired. Or even to be taken right there and then. Kathryn Kincordie! You look every bit as lovely as your auction photo did, the gentleman grinned, inviting his paid-for hostess over to the table. He was a short, stocky fellow with glasses – surely not even in his thirties yet. From his.
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