The cultural differences between a Western woman and a Japanese man were not always the easiest thing in the world to overcome. They had both struggled to get time off together; their respective work schedules seldom syncing up for enough time to do anything other than have a takeaway and see a movie. But this weekend was different: four days entirely to themselves. For the first time in as many months, there would be plenty of opportunity to explore the world and each other.
Of course it had to begin with a fight; he had been late to pick her up, she was freezing in her kimono and bitter that he had broken his promise and worn jeans instead, as he said it was impractical to wear “that getup” in the car, and so forth. Her feelings were hurt and he, whether through communication issues or simply thinking that he couldn’t imagine any of his guy friends acting like this, had made it much worse. The rest of the car ride after their fight had been tense: he had been silent, jaw locked in determination just to get through the long weekend; she, bleary eyed and silently fuming until they reached their destination.
“We’re here,” he called as the car pulled into the drive. She murmured in sleepy confusion at being dragged from her gray and tired thoughts and looked out the window at the huge green mountains that surrounded them. The ancient set of wooden cabins before them formed the image of a resort with its own private hot spring, located deep in the countryside, hours away from civilization and the perfect place to reconnect. He got out and popped the trunk and grabbed their bags; she smiled hesitantly when he caught her eye. After all, it wasn’t the first time they’d had to agree to disagree to make things work.
“That’s a beautiful kimono,” said the silver-haired innkeeper admiringly, stepping out from behind the counter to compare it with her own. The kindly old woman had snorted at the blush on the young couple’s cheeks and leaned over conspiratorially. “They never do want to get dressed up, do they?” And she’d agreed and he had smiled and slowly they’d begun to thaw. It was meant to be a weekend to relax and enjoy each other’s company, though now it seemed one to sort out their differences as well.
“Everything all right?” she asked as they came to the entrance of their private cabin. He paused, apparently wanting to say something, before he thought better of it and disappeared inside to toe off his sneakers. She made a beeline for the bathroom and had just gotten her hair down when he called her name. There, across from the battered old TV he patted the legless sofa against the back wall and handed her a dinner menu. The familiar way he asked, “Can you eat this?” at every turn, as though she’d never had raw fish in her life, was endearing enough to get her through, and with every tiny agreement they reached together the final vestiges of their fight disappeared into a soon-to-be forgotten past. The teamwork it required reminded them of why they’d gone there in the first place; the naughty twinkle he’d gotten in his eye as he finally eyed her kimono properly didn’t hurt either.
In the corner of the front hall sat their two suitcases, dropped haphazardly; the main door was shut tight and a DO NOT DISTURB notice had been added in case the hint was not taken. Her geta and his shoes were lined up neatly along the highly polished wood tile floor, but a trail of various cords, a wrinkled obi, kimono and finally some very Western, very expensive undergarments were scattered across the floor from the hall to the doorway of the tatami-floored room. A hastily cast off pair of jeans, boxer-briefs and a sweater sat inside the door frame. In the middle of the room lay a double-width futon, pillows on the floor and assorted blankets crumpled at the bottom of the bed—a bed which had formerly sat nicely against the opposite wall overlooking a private terrace and garden. The reason for the bed’s movement was apparent: the young lovers had, in the haste of their make-up sex, thoroughly fucked it across the room and were now sprawled rather indelicately over its remains, sleeping like two contented cats in the winter sunbeams.
The woman was the first to awaken, her bare breasts covered in goose bumps as she rolled over to face her still sleeping partner. He was completely nude and exposed and ever so quietly snoring. The woman allowed her eyes to run over him then, drinking in the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the narrow flute of his lip, the long sharp drop from his strong chin to the deeply muscled valleys of his collarbones. His chest rose in steady, even breaths; the tawny brown of his nipples had been discolored by her lipstick. She could follow the trail she had made quite easily, the smudged lines of burgundy down his stomach and over his hips and, rather tellingly, a perfect ring about the base of his cock. The color and the feeling of drinking him in, of keeping him in rapture with only her mouth made the woman both proud and wet.
Watching him sleep, she began to grow bolder—not content with just watching any longer, she ever so gently ran her fingers over his member, which very pleasantly stirred and, much to her fascination and delight, grew thick and hard once again. But still he kept sleeping! She was amazed, baffled but tinged with the disappointment that he hadn’t noticed; glad that she could still continue with her game.
Emboldened by her success, she leaned across him and lightly traced the seam of his cock, running her fingers from base to tip and back again, barely skimming the soft, delicate skin. She could feel herself becoming aroused again and allowed one of her hands to stray between her legs, caressing the skin that her lover had so recently lapped at hungrily. The memory of his ferocity overtook her; she could still feel the braided gilt ribbon of the tatami mats grinding against her hands and knees as he pounded into her, the slapping of his hips against her bottom, how tightly he had squeezed her breasts and the gentle sting of his teeth on her shoulder when he had finally emptied himself inside her. She hadn’t come then. He was quite selfish really, she thought then, but now, this was all for her to enjoy.
She straddled his thighs then, (still asleep and snoring, the nerve!) and touched herself, pushing her fingers against her clit in deep, broad strokes until she was certain she could wait no longer. Biting back the moans that would have most certainly awoken her lover, she took that still hard cock in hand and slid it inside herself, the girth and heat causing her to pause, to enjoy the sensation of being filled under her own terms. Her lover seemed to have only faintly registered what had happened: he sighed and, ever so slightly, bucked his hips upward into her.
Throwing caution to the wind, she began to ride him, slowly at first, drawing him out and then deep within herself, then faster, pushing him inside until she could feel his balls bouncing back against her folds. She ran her hands over her breasts, playing with her own nipples with her head thrown back; she was undone, she came and cried out, her own juices rushing down between her thighs, running over his cock and spilling onto the futon. She stayed in place, panting, still staring at the ceiling when she felt two strong hands grip her hips and force her down farther than she had managed onto his now throbbing cock.
Maybe she hadn’t been as sly as she thought: she had been caught and was now being punished for it. The hard deep thrusts were joined by something entirely unexpected: a thumb, apparently having learned something from her own actions, was working itself rhythmically against the almost too sensitive nub. He was merciless; she felt herself shaking as she sat pinioned on top of him. There was nowhere to go, nothing she could do but come, again and again as he punished her with maddening, deep thrusts and that thumb, forcing her to submit over and over. It finally ended when she felt him—felt it—spray inside her; the force of her lover’s own orgasm making him animalistic, growls coming from the back of his throat through gritted teeth. Their cries must have echoed off the not too distant mountains because the silence afterward was almost unbearable. Her lover pulled her down against his chest and held her in place, his arms woven protectively around her as he cradled her against him.
“Better?” he asked, and then kissed her, a soft, reassuring kiss.
“Much,” she replied.
“Forgive me?”
“Only if you do that again later.”