Tourist trap

“Of course,” you reply automatically, flashing a little kind smile before heading off. “Thank you.”

There’s nothing special about this hotel, as far as you know. Smack dab in the city, no distinct amenities or qualities from other competitors of the same price. It’s just your residence for a day or so before you travel north as part of your month-long trip to Japan.

You’d just arrived the other day and settled at a friend’s apartment in the meantime, so you had your luggage in tow. It’s light and economical, only bringing the essentials: clothes, food, toiletries, and laptop. Nothing particularly personal or remarkable. The leftover space is reserved for your intended souvenirs: cards, albums, and of course, anime figures.

But that’s for tomorrow. You’d spent most of the day at your friend’s apartment, helping him move around the furniture since he’s turning his flat into a rentable space, and barely managed to catch the 6:00 PM bus to the hotel after bidding him goodbye. And although it had just been a few hours, the time you’d spent walking through the city, making the detour through the park, and the late grocery run had tuckered you out more than expected.

You go through the motions. Press the keycard against the electronic lock of the door. It clicks open, and you enter.

It’d be easy to just lay out your luggage on the side and just lie on the bed. You’re not in the mood to eat nor shower; all you want to do is close your eyes and call it a day, even if it’s still relatively early in the evening.

But you can’t.

While you do leave your bags by the closet, as your eyes glance up to your designated bed, something’s there.

Or in this case, someone.

She’s in a bathrobe, resting right in the center of the bed, on her knees, demanding attention. Waiting, crouching like a dog waiting for its master to return.

You let out a scream that echoes around the nearby area.

“Shit!”

“My apologies,” says the woman, bowing respectfully. “But seeing as you’re not from here, I—”

“Who the fuck are you?” you immediately ask, already moving close to the room phone, ready to call the front desk. Or the police.

“Ah! Do not be alarmed; for I’m the designated service girl for you—at least tonight,” she says, again, flashing a courteous grin. “To serve your every need, sir.”

You raise a confused eyebrow. “What?”

“Oh my,” she chuckles in surprise. “Didn’t the front desk tell you about the— ahem —the room service we offer, sir?”

Your mind had drifted while the receptionist lady explained everything the hotel had to offer. Again, nothing really stuck out from its exterior and interior. The assumption that it’s the same as every other hotel: a nice swimming pool, a café, souvenir shop, gym, and the like. You just wanted to crash, not engage with an uninvited girl in your room.

“Oh,” you mutter softly. A small realization coming over you, accompanied by a small sinking feeling as you retrace your steps. “Must have dozed off.”

“Pardon my intrusion, then,” the lady says with a shy smile, tugging at the collar of her white, silken bathrobe. She clambers off the bed, approaching you.

And damn, she’s quite short. You can squeeze her from head to toe.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” she bows in a friendly manner. “I’m Nako.”

Your first response would’ve been to thank her politely and proceed to dismiss her services, if she could be so kind as to leave you alone so you can rest up and sleep. But in a brief moment, a brief moment where her eyes meet yours and the ends of her lips curl up sweetly, your exhaustion dissipates into dust.

You nod with a neutral face, eyeing Nako’s petite frame. With her arms tucked against her stomach, they’d disappear under the sleeves of the oversized robe, the material slipping against her shoulders to reveal a healthy portion of her thighs and more importantly, the curves of her bust.

You almost feel uncomfortable checking out a girl standing before you, much less one who claims to be some kind of servant sent to assist you. But the words on her name tag say otherwise.

“P-Please,” her cheeks start to tinge with color, and so do her exposed, slender shoulders. She pulls the material close, concealing whatever peaks she’s letting the world see. But you’d already seen them, and from your perspective, they’d appeared soft to the touch and perky. “I-I’d like to serve you.”

“Woah, hold on,” you relent, taking a step back. Forgetting you’re close to the bed and hitting a wall. “I mean, what service is this exactly—”

“Anything you want, sir.”

Nako kneels down, now appearing smaller, reaching the level of your knees. Her voice takes on a sultrier tone and her lips move slowly with every syllable. “Sex, domination, punishment. Any requests, desires—whims.”

That’s when she lays out her hands on top of your pants, rubbing her palms gently on your bulge, making your mind spin. Her robe remains half-open, revealing everything from the bottom of her impressive breasts to the legs you could sit on. For some with her frame, she’s built so perfectly.

“I'm—not getting charged extra for this, am I?” you ask, half-heartedly joking, alarmed by the casualness of it all. Like it’s somehow normalized in this world, in this industry. After all, this is Japan—

“It’s part of your stay, so you can choose if you want it—or not,” she says, maintaining contact with her eyes and her hand rubbing the front of your pants, feeling the outline of your cock. She bites her lower lip gently as if savoring the act.

Nako stops for a brief moment. She then reaches up, unties the white belt and her robe slips apart, revealing thin lace that holds up her boobs but nothing else to conceal the bottom half, save for panties to keep the rest hidden away. For now.

“Please allow me.”

“Shit—uh, I—” you say, trying to resist every fiber telling you to take up her offer, but the cute, rather innocent, dissonant tone makes it so hard to deny. Every syllable, every utterance, every breath sounds a little too pleasing for your tired ears.

“It’s all safe,” she assures you, taking you by the hand, letting you squeeze her breast through the cleavage. Firm. Shapely. “I’ve been told by the guests I served that I provide the best service too.”

“Fuck,” you grit your teeth, as your hand explores her chest, reaching up behind her neck, pushing her forward. Meanwhile her free palm continues rubbing you, getting you riled up.

She undoes the knot on the pants, unzips the zipper, then reaches through the flap of your briefs.

Your fingers brush through the skin on Nako’s shoulder. You squeeze tighter, making her flinch. “I can see why—”

“Thank you for finding me to your liking, sir,” she teases, nibbling her lip, groping your throbbing shaft. “How should I, um, pleasure you?”

“Get on the bed,” you command.

Nako does so compliantly. Letting the robe fall freely to the floor, she positions herself back on the clean, freshly folded sheets, back in that compliant, blatantly submissive crouch. She intently observes you quickly dressing down; shirt, belt, pants, boxers and shoes come flying off and tossed aside, now with nothing to hide.

“So, what position is your favorite?” you ask. The way neither of you are bothered by the fact your hard cock is casually flopping around is jarring, to say the least.

“Anything the guest wants,” she replies, holding that curt, delicate tone. It’s clear even while like this, there’s an air of professionalism she wants to maintain. A strange contrast, given the nature of the circumstances you’d both found yourselves in, with no intention or connection inside what’s meant to be a private room.

“No, no. I want to ask you, personally,” you say, planting your body beside hers. You have a hand brushed against her cheek, unsure of what to do next, sharing breaths. “I mean, it must be tiring to accommodate everything your guests want—”

“It’s part of the job,” she interrupts, shaking her head, smiling so sweetly it makes your heart melt. “So go on. Anything you want. I’m down.”

It’s a tough choice. Your eyes wander aimlessly, basking in the sights and smell of her lithe body, observing her with as much detail as possible, thinking which part would feel amazing pressed between your hands and cock.

Missionary. From behind. On her fours. The list goes on and on. She looks so pliable and foldable to your every whim, and the fact she’s willing to do anything—

“No, I’m not gonna. Tell me what you prefer.”

Nako takes a deep breath. Hesitates for a moment, before saying: “Well, I prefer to be used.”