As Marla wiggled her ass in the face of the half drunken Japanese businessman he reached out and slipped his hand between her legs and ran a finger along her g-string covered crack. After the quick feel, he stuck a thousand yen into her waist band and called out to the waitress for another drink. It was almost ten o’clock in the evening, and still the company men, as they are called in Japan, were drinking and carousing with there business associates. It was said that sake and geisha girls was the oil that kept Japan’s corporate structure lubricated. Well, Marla didn’t know about the business structure, but all of the executives in the Ty Ling bar were definitely “lubricated”!
Being blonde and from America was a big draw to Japanese males, probably because of the homogeneous society that was modern Japan. Since 99.9% of the residents were Japanese, there wasn’t a whole lot of variety as far as appearance was concerned, so being blonde and in Japan definitely made you an outsider, and Japanese men couldn’t seem to get enough of the American women! While corporate America complained about closed trade markets, one look at the Japanese lifestyle told an entirely different story. The Japanese wore American clothes, watched American movies, ate at American fast food restaurants, and listened to American rock music. Walking down Tokyo’s busy Ginza district, and you would have thought you were in Times Square with all the American logos burning in bright neon lights. Marla was just another American icon to be bought and sold, only her commodity was her very supple and sensuous twenty four year old body. Like she said to her American compatriots, “We’re just doing our part to help balance the trade deficit !”
Marla had answered and ad in the New York New about fabulous money to be made in the Far East, and going for an interview, she found out that while not very glamorous, working the bars and night clubs of Tokyo and Osaka could earn a pretty blonde girl five thousand dollars a week! The hours would be long, but the rewards great for someone with a little ambition. Marla was at the time working a legal secretary making seven hundred dollars a week, a salary that barely made ends meet in New York City, so a week later she was on a plane to Tokyo, getting ready to start a brand new career. She found out right away that you could indeed make five grand a week, but to do it, you had to let the free handed businessmen touch you in very intimate places, and while not a prude, it took her several weeks to become accustomed to the pawing and leering that she had to endure while dancing at the club. In her third week, Marla got her first proposal to make some real money. A young executive wanted to take her to a hotel and make love to her. He seemed like a likable sort, and he wasn’t drunk like most of the other men in bar that night, so she made arrangements to meet him in the hotel bar after her shift was over.
Like most Japanese men, Ken, that was the name he gave her, was short and lean. He was waiting in the bar for her, and together they rode the elevator up to a room he had previously taken. He helped her with her coat, and then ran his hands up and down the sides of her body, pausing to feel the swell of her hips. She turned away from him and asked him, “Be a doll, hon, and help me with my zipper!” With a steady hand he pulled it down, kissing her on her bare shoulder, and sliding the sequined garment to the floor. He carefully unhooked her bra and it too slipped off her body, exposing her 34D chest to the evening air. Her nipples immediately became erect as Ken reached around her and cupped them in his hands. Most Japanese men were pushy and rough with their woman, but Ken had a gentle touch that was starting to turn Marla on. She turned around to face him, giving him a straight on look at her magnificent chest, and while lifting his hands back to her boobs she asked softly, “Do you like them, Ken?” He nodded in the affirmative, and said, “American girls have much bigger breasts than Japanese women, I like them very much.”