[Slave_E]

The client expected us to meet him at his hotel. We arrived by taxi, the receptionist phoned him and after a few minutes he left the elevator and went over to greet us.

He was a sturdy man, well above sixty, with broad shoulders and bushy gray hair, parted at the side, reaching over his ears. He had a full, sallow face, a protruding nose and a small sensuous mouth. His eyebrows were dark and easily noticeable. Heavy eyelids and puffy bags under his eyes did their best to conceal his expression. He wore an expensive looking gray wool suit with big lapels, a light blue shirt and a gray and white striped silk tie.

He and Justin bowed at the same time. The client accepted Justin's business card gracefully and offered his own, which Justin picked up with both hands. He put it meticulously away in his briefcase before he gestured me to join them, bowed again and said, "Yamada-San, please meet Emily, my assistant. She's a bright girl, I'm sure you will find her helpful and enjoyable at the same time."

The client took in my newly blonde hair and my short dress and the ghost of a smile curled his lips. "I have no doubt, Mr. Bernau." His smile deepened, a transformation that made me uneasy. He must have noticed, as he grunted, "Don't you think we'll get along fine, Emily-Chan?"

Mimicking Justin I bowed as deep as I could and, looking down to the floor, retorted, "I'm very honored to meet you, Yamada-San. I dearly hope you will find me pleasurable."

He stretched his hand out and I took it in mine. It was hard and dry and callused. His second finger boasted a golden ring with a big red stone; his third finger missed the first joint and his little finger the first and the second. For a split second I bit my lips, but stopped immediately, hoping he hadn't seen it. I shook his hand or what was left of it and was surprised how firm his grip was.

He told us he had arranged dinner in a Japanese restaurant, led us outside to a big black chauffeur-driven BMW, offered Justin to drive shotgun, invited me to join him in the back seat and told the driver to go to the BOX restaurant near Media Harbour. As we left the hotel driveway, it started to rain. I leaned back, closed my eyes and listened to the monotonous sound of the windshield wipers.

Tired as I was, my head sank to my chest and lazily following the movements of the car I dozed off, only to be jolted up at the next narrow turn. The client's eyes were on my body. I humbly looked down. Being shaken around, the hem of my dress had moved up and only the fact that my hands were folded in my lap preserved my modesty. I did not dare to move. I knew where he was staring at and felt naked. In our greeting I had hinted at wearing that dress solely to please him and I was sure that he was thinking about my cunt and what better my hands could do to please him than being folded in my lap. Suddenly I was tempted to find out what he would do if I would spread my legs and let my fingers sluggishly slide under my thong.

Julian turned in his seat and interrupted my train of thought. He took the scene in and a tiny little smile played around the corners of his mouth. "Where is it you will take us, Yamada-San?"

The client averted his gaze from my crotch and answered, "To the Media Harbour. Once it has been a real harbour, but today it's mostly media companies, fashion and design offices. CNN used to be there... And the BOX is a small restaurant, close to the Rhine, visited mostly by Japanese people. They have some nice Tatami rooms there, with walled panels made from Shoji screens, for guest privacy." His eyes returned to me. "I'm sure you will find them memorable, intimate, and fun, Emily-Chan."

I spread my legs just enough to let my hands slide in the ensuing cleft. "What better to do than trust your judgment, Sensei? I'm sure I will." That ghost of a smile was back on his face and I wondered if he was purposely talking to me and to Julian at the same time with the same words about completely different things and if that had anything to do with a funny thing I had read about Japan, about there always being a surface, the omote, and an undercurrent, the ura, and I felt that the undercurrent was getting stronger by the minute.

It was Julian who broke the tension. "I'd like to know a little bit more about that Korean company you want us to get in touch with, Yamada-San. Could you give us a short overview of their objectives?"

The client lazily turned his head, looked at Julian with heavy eyes and said, "Yes..." but instead of talking fell quiet and looked out of the window, not bothering with an answer. I followed his gaze. All down the street glaring neon signs announced cheap thrills like a SEX-CENTER, a MASSAGE DREIECK or a SAUNACLUB, promised the seduction of a SEX CINEMA, the excitement of a super sexy LIVE SHOW and the availability of PRIVATE ROOMS. The driver slowed down and turned to the left. A street sign read CHARLOTTENSTRASSE. I recognized passing silhouettes, strangely illuminated mannequins, neon on naked skin, a wet zoo of ugly scenes. Heavily made up street girls in heels, micro shorts and wet crop tops crowded the pavements. Cars cruised down the street and stopped, girls leaned into open windows, thrust their butts out and negotiated with the guys behind the wheel. Our BMW came to a halt. We were stuck. I frowned, but the client smiled and said in a deep low voice, as if talking to himself, "When I was young, I was into high school girls. I'll never grow tired of desperate little sluts degrading themselves for attention, even when there is no promise of a reward, neither financially nor by an orgasm. Them craving the chance to get a little more attention, a few more words, some shallow affection turns me on... Are you like them, Emily-Chan? Would you humiliate yourself just to please me?"

I blushed. All the way through his rant, I had been unable to make eye contact. Why did he provoke me? Did he expect me to flirt and flatter? Was teasing the name of the game? Knowing that sexual banter abounds when touching is prohibited, and being sure that touching me in public, in a car, was a no go for the client, I went with the flow. After all, it's men's egos that need the most caressing.

I started to hum. He looked at me doubtfully and I felt better. I had brought him out of his shell. At least a little bit. "This is an old song," I said, "A lot older than I am, but I liked it when I was a schoolgirl. Want me to sing it for you?" Without waiting for an answer I started with the first verse, very subdued at first, almost spoken, but I got louder as he did not complain. "Shall I stay here at the zoo, or should I go and change my point of view? You did what you did to me, now it's history I see, here's my comeback on the road again, things will happen while they can, I will wait here for my man tonight... It's easy when you're big in Japan..."

The client didn't move, not even his hands. But he smiled. Which told me nothing. Smiles have double meanings. I had no clue whether his expressed joy or displeasure.

Trying a more direct approach, I said bluntly, ''When I was young, I didn't understand, but today I know that a girl has to make a man happy. Why else would an influential man like you bother to waste his time with a humble girl like me, Sensei?''

This hit home. He harrumphed, which made him look vulnerable, and grumbled, "I like girls who admit to their weaknesses. I like girls who are more depraved than I expect them to be. I like girls that take it on themselves, hold nobody else to blame, are game for anything... " I cringed, blushed and was dripping wet.

Falling silent again he closed his eyes. He did not seem uncomfortable with being silent, so I left him alone in his world and looked out of the window. The neon signs grew sparse, became more stylish. There were a LADY WILDFIRE and an ALTER BIZARRER BAHNHOF and then they stopped altogether. We had reached the Media Harbour.