Billionaires in Tokyo: A Dom Vs. Domme Story Page 4

I’m very happy in my relationship, thank you very much. Ian and I have come a long way since we first hooked up in his family’s offices after too much work and too much wine. We’ve come even longer once we both opened up to our more submissive sides. Since we went to Paris earlier this year, Ian has come around to seeing me as the goddess I am. (Dare I say he’s begun appealing to my inner goddess?) We’ve shared quite a few nights as Dom and sub, and it isn’t always in the direction you might think.

  At the end of the day, my soulmate isn’t as capable of submission as he is domination, and while that’s okay, a Domme like me yearns for the companionship of men who do fill that role better.

  Now, I’m not saying I want to sleep with any of these men, but there’s a reason I still go to gatherings with my Domme girlfriends that often include shows and demonstrations centering on men groveling for punishment and begging for a woman to offer them a few harsh words. Watching them get harder every time some badass in boots gets her way is the deliciously naughty cherry on that sex sundae. I don’t often get that at home, and Ian and I have an understanding that I’m free to look all I want when I go out.

  These men aren’t going to lower themselves to that level of depravity for an extra buck, although once some of them see the look in my eyes, I know that they, too, know. I’m in charge when it comes to sex and love.

  Most of the men here could probably swing either way on the domination and submission scale. They’ll give a client whatever she wants. Then you get the guys who get hard once they realize who is in the same room as them.

  It’s a power trip. I’m not gonna lie.

  However, I’m not in the right company to strut my stuff. Fujiko wants to get nasty with anyone cute enough to tickle her. Junri would rather go home to her own lover, but she’ll power through the night for the sake of her family’s business dealings. She’ll do it without once complaining, too.

  “Can you bring me another one?” I ask the nearest guy, who has been respectfully eyeballing me for the past fifteen minutes. Which is exactly how long he’s been in this room. I told you, some guys feed off a dominant’s energy. He ain’t even hiding his erection, and none of the other guys dare to chide him. “Thanks.” I wink at him. Now that I feel absolutely no pressure from either the men or the party to participate in adultery, I am 100% more confident in exuding the real Kathryn that emerges when she has enough to drink.

  He gingerly grips my glass so he never once touches my skin. Good boy.

  Fujiko catches my gaze lingering on the submissive man’s ass as he scurries away to get me a fresh drink. “So what I hear about you is true?”

  I cock an eyebrow. “What have you heard about me?” I can tell you what I’ve heard about Ms. Isoya, but it would be far from polite.

  “Let’s say that you and Mr. Mathers have a reputation in certain circles around here.”

  Junri shifts in her seat between us. She has been nothing but cautiously polite with everyone bringing and taking away drinks. For the most part, she’s spent this evening staring at the table, fingers itching to text someone – but she doesn’t dare at something that is technically a business function.

  “Our reputation precedes us wherever we go.”

  “That’s not always a problem.”

  I hook my finger without looking at the men behind me. One steps forward. He’s either the most eager one out of the bunch, or the most obedient. Rarely do you find a man who is both, and I don’t hold my breath that this guy is the golden fish in the pond. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “So,” Fujiko continues, suddenly sober. “Tell me more about Mr. Mathers. He’s a handsome man, yes?”

  For the first time all night, her niece shows disbelief on her face. “You shouldn’t ask such questions, Auntie.”

  “Oh, shush. We’re all girls here! What’s the point of being surrounded by handsome men and getting drunk if we’re not having some woman talk?”

  I glance at the golden band on my right hand. Some days, when I’m feeling brave enough to face the questions and speculation in the tabloids, I’ll flip it over to my left hand. I need to get used to it if I’m marrying him one day.

  One day.

  “What is there to say about him? He’s my boyfriend.”

  “Ahh, too bad. If he were available, I’d tell my niece to go on a date with him. For me.”

  Junri sits up with a start and continues to scold her aunt for saying such things. Her left index finger continues to stroke the ring on her hand.

  I don’t know what they’re saying once they start going nuts in Japanese, but Fujiko puts out a reassuring hand that says she’s joking, and Junri looks irate enough to leave. Too bad. She and my boyfriend would make a cute couple. You know, if he weren’t in bed with me for the rest of his life already.

  “He’s so handsome! He’s even right around that age for me to date.”

  “Auntie!”

  I laugh. It doesn’t bother me to hear other women talk about Ian like this. I’d only get jealous if he were flirting back with the fires of intention burning behind his stupid hazel eyes. Then the claws come out and he can bet most women wouldn’t find that nice face of his too attractive anymore.

  I kid. A little.

  “I’m thinking I should date an American businessman to settle down. I’m getting to an age where I should start considering that.” Is that sarcasm? Because Fujiko has to be in her early sixties. At the youngest. “When I retire, I want a capable man who will woo me like a woman of my standing deserves.” She shrugs, and that is that.

  “Even if I did not have my own money, Ian would be more than enough to get me through the rest of my life.” I should hope so. The fucker’s a billionaire and not one to squander the money, the occasional bad investment aside. “We’re perfect for each other.”

  “Do you get married? Oh, oh, invite me! I want to meet American businessmen and get this ball rolling, as you say.”

  Both women look at me, waiting for an answer. Even Ms. Junri has been wondering about my marital status.

  I’m gonna need even more booze for this shit.

  Once I’m properly lubed up, I give them a brief rundown of what’s going on in my love life. Why not? I’m technically drunk now, and it’s not like they can’t find this shit online by tracking down fanblogs that are really, really into Ian and me as a couple. Seriously. They’re creepy, but in that rather harmless sort of way. (I hope.)

  “We don’t have plans to get married yet,” I say. “We’ve talked about it, but…”

  They both lean forward. “But?”

  “I’m not really the marrying type.”

  Fujiko leans back in her seat. “Naruhodo!” she exclaims, whatever that means. Her thumb jerks against her chest. “Same! No marriage for me.” She reaches over and pats her niece’s knee. “Her too. One time she was engaged to a hot man. Then she dumped him.”

  Junri’s cheeks are red. Red. “Don’t go telling people that…”

  “It’s true. If you met her fiancé, you would think she’s crazy for dumping him.”

  I can tell from the further furrowing of Junri’s brows that she doesn’t find it crazy. Awkward. Even more awkward when she snaps something at her honorable aunt in Japanese. These two are either drunker than they look, or they are so close they can get away with speaking so informally to one another.

  “We all have our reasons for turning down proposals.” How many times has Ian proposed to me now? He finally stopped after I told him I’d bring it up when I was ready to seriously discuss putting some plans into motion. We’re in engagement limbo. In my mind we’re basically engaged, but making a formal announcement would tear my world apart, and I’m not ready for that yet. My own best friend barely knows what I’m getting up to in that regard. I’m not going to tell some strangers I met on the other side of the world. Even if they keep it to themselves, that’s two more people out there who know my innermost fears.

  No thanks.

  “Don
’t I know! I’ve been proposed to many times.” Fujiko nods sagely. Junri looks like she wants nothing to do with this conversation. “When I was a girl, it was because of my family. Many suitors came, and my parents wanted me to marry half of them. Yet if I married to boost the family’s capital and image, I wouldn’t be allowed to work. I wanted to work! I could do better helping my family’s company succeed from the inside instead of marrying some incompetent man from Tokyo.”

  “I was also offered many proposals when I was growing up.” It happens to every heiress of a large fortune. We’re doomed to be nothing more than trophies to half of the elite families in the world. “It felt like such a waste of my time. Luckily, my family didn’t care about them either.” Crazy to think of my parents as liberal in that regard. But my mother was so jaded by the time I was old enough for her to receive proposals on my behalf, and my father detested the thought of his virginal daughter (ahahaha) being in the arms of some playboy (ahahahaha!) I’ll point out that Daddy’s fears were the ones that came true. Ian was the king of playboys before he stuck it in me over two years ago. He’s been drunk on my cunt since, bless him.

  “Now I get proposed to by men like these who are looking for money for different reasons. Like I would ever.”

  Here we are, a room full of heiresses of different ages. Well, I don’t know how old Junri is. I have a feeling she is solidly in her thirties, which would make her a little older than me, but she doesn’t look old enough to sprout gray hairs yet. Hm. Maybe she’s the same age as me. I’ll have to snoop later if I remember.

  “I would love to get married to my partner,” she says. “Except it’s difficult.”

  Fujiko levels her gaze on her niece’s face. Is that a look of caution? Damn. Maybe Junri is involved with someone below the family’s standing. Even someone like Fujiko isn’t going to approve of a marriage to someone not of the proper breeding. Fooling around? Perfectly acceptable! I know her type of older woman all too well. My mother would have been that type if she didn’t have a mental breakdown when I was younger.

  I’m having one of those moments where I’m grateful that my boyfriend happens to be acceptable. He’s so acceptable that I’m sure our fathers would have arranged a marriage between us hundreds of years ago.

  Not every heiress is so lucky. Already I’m cooking up stories on Junri’s behalf. Dumped a fiancé who was considered acceptable? Now in a relationship with someone who was tolerated but not expected to join the family? I could see it. I don’t want to make assumptions, but I have a feeling even the most liberal of Japan’s elite business families are still more conservative than American families I know.

  “In a perfect world,” Fujiko begins once we all have our final rounds of drinks, “would you marry your boyfriend?”

  “In a perfect world that doesn’t exist?” I hold up my glass for another toast. “I would have married him the moment I realized I was in love with him.” That’s the truth.

  I said that this would be my final drink of the night, but I’m soon proven wrong. My sentimentality toward Ian has me downing one after the other, loosening up enough until I stop thinking about marriage and what it means for someone like me. It already haunts me every night as I drift off to sleep as it is.

  Everyone is drinking. Fujiko, Junri, the hosts who now set their sights on Fujiko’s drunk ass in the hopes she’ll buy more of their services that night. Not me. The only time I touch those guys tonight is when they practically carry me down to the cab that takes me back to the hotel with the other ladies. Fujiko’s stumbling about the lobby of her hotel, yelling at her staff to help our drunken asses up to our rooms. Once I’m in my dark room, I check my phone for a message from Ian. Where the hell is he? I wanna cuddle. I hope he’s not as drunk as I am.

  So many messages. Are they even in English?

  “Baaabyyy.” He never calls me that! He must be drunk. “I don’t feel goooxmkjmwekltz.”

  Someone’s learning German. Or Greek. Either way, I’m passed out on the bed for the next twelve hours.

  Chapter 4

  KATHRYN

  I wake up with a splitting headache. God, I am getting too old for this shit. Ten years ago I would drink twice as much and only have half the hangover. When will I learn that I can’t act like I’m twenty-one anymore? Turning thirty has been the biggest wake-up call in that regard.

  Ian isn’t with me. At first I’m confused, until I remember I didn’t see him last night. Then I remember he changed rooms to mine so we could be together, so where the hell is he? I don’t want to suffer from a hangover alone. Doesn’t he have one too?

  Every ray of sunlight streaming through the hotel room windows are like another pick to my forehead. What’s a hangover cure in Japan? How do I call the front desk to have one delivered to me? Then again, the most effective hangover cure I could have right now is my boyfriend (suffering alongside me or not) and he’s not anywhere to be seen around here.

  My phone is in my purse, which rests in the middle of the floor. I pick it up, expecting to find a text from Ian. All I see is the one from last night that says he doesn’t feel good.

  “Are you okay? I have a fuckin’ hangover from hell.” I leave my phone on the table as I stumble into the bathroom to take a shower.

  We have plans to run around Tokyo today. I want to go shopping here in the Shibuya neighborhood, and Ian said something about taking a walk in the Imperial Gardens before they close. Not sure how I feel about that walk right now. Maybe I can talk him out of it when he gets back to me. I want to keep things indoors today.

  Whenever he gets back to me. If he’s also hungover, it may be another hour or so before I hear from him.

  By lunch, I’m more than a little concerned.

  I call Valerie, but it goes straight to voicemail. I tell her I can’t find Ian and I need her to call me back.

  Where the hell is my boyfriend?

  I decide to try his original room next. After pounding on the door a few times – certainly loud enough to rouse him out of drunken sleep – I still get nothing.

  This is when I begin to panic a little bit.

  What the fuck am I supposed to think? My boyfriend isn’t answering my calls, my texts, or my knocking on his door. He’s either beyond incapacitated, or…

  He’s actually not here?

  This is ridiculous.

  “Where the hell are you?” I text him. “I hope you’re really hungover because you’re freaking me out. Give me a heads up that you’re okay. Anyway, I’m going out to get some fresh air. Text me if you want to meet up somewhere.”

  Me? I’m going shopping?

  Say what you will about New York and Paris, but Tokyo is seriously one of the best cities to go shopping in. (Although I do recommend being a size six or smaller.) You can find every international designer under the rising sun within single blocks. Because instead of building out like most other cities, Tokyo builds up. Tall, skinny buildings stick up in the air, bright, neon lights tacked on even during the day. You could spend one day in a single building spending thousands of dollars and walking away with everything you came to Tokyo to buy.

  Shibuya is one of the greatest examples of this. Down by the huge intersection at the station, there’s a place called Shibuya 109 that is nothing but a huge, circular shopping mall dedicated to the latest teen styles. I outgrew that place when I graduated college, but it’s still worth visiting with friends if only to take in a completely different shopping culture.

  These days I stick to the couture boutiques lining the main street. I’m particularly interested in local high-fashion designers, since Japanese designers tend to think way more out of the box than their Western counterparts. I won’t be able to get away with bright pink stockings coupled with a canary yellow sheath dress and strings of pearls, but my best friend Eva would. She needs these bright pink stockings like I need a text from my boyfriend right now.

  Seriously, where the hell is that guy?

  Shopping distracts me long
enough. By mid-afternoon I’m in a teashop looking for my father’s favorite Eastern blend to take back as a souvenir, and… still nothing from Ian. While the shopkeeper goes back to find his more sensitive blends, I try calling Ian again. Nothing. I call Valerie soon after.

  “So sorry I missed your call earlier, Kathryn,” she says with a groggy voice. “I really don’t feel good today.”

  “Do you know where your boss is?”

  She sighs. “I haven’t heard from him, no. Was I supposed to?”

  “No, but I haven’t heard from him since our meeting yesterday. I’m getting worried.”

  “I can try getting through to him, but if you of all people can’t, then I don’t hold out much hope that I will be able to.”

  “Thanks for trying anyway.”

  Five minutes later, I have my tea and a return call from Valerie. “Sorry, Kathryn. Can’t get a hold of Mr. Mathers. I left a message, but I’m guessing you did too.”

  “This is ridiculous. He better be in a ditch somewhere.” I don’t mean that. Not… really.

  I ask Valerie if she feels up for meeting me in the hotel restaurant for dinner. She says she thinks she’ll be able to swing that, so an hour later I’m sitting with my boyfriend’s personal assistant and ruminating on the current state of my relationship.

  Too bad Valerie keeps distracting me with how hellish she looks.

  Someone has been throwing up. At first I think food poisoning, and then I wonder if she has a virus I should be aware of. As soon as I bring this up, she brushes me off, insisting that she doesn’t have anything contagious. “I thought I would be well enough for this trip,” she begins, “but I think the traveling messed me up.”

  “I didn’t think you had traveler’s flu.”

  “Ah, well…” Valerie dithers over telling me something else, but finally says, “What the hell. I might as well tell you. Although keep in mind I haven’t told Mr. Mathers yet.”

  That so? This should be good.

  Valerie drinks more of her Coke and stares at her salad. “I’m pregnant again. This one isn’t as behaved as the first one, either.”