White Chocolate Japanese Love Hotel

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“You pick the room tonight.”

She smiles at me suggestively and gestures at the giant lit up board next to us. It’s half the size of a wall, covered in blinking circular buttons and rectangular images of the rooms and what waits within them. The buttons have prices next to them, indicating the cost of what pleasures we will choose for our evening. We’ve been to this one before, this love hotel, as they’re called.

Japan is full of weird and wonderful microworlds, the closest thing you can find on planet earth to another planet. Fashion, food, and fantasy all take on a strange shape here. Sex is no exception. Most Japanese households have two kids and one set of in-laws living within their walls, and there’s barely any room for sexual intimacy. So the post World War II society created itself Love Hotels — tall standing oases of carnal pleasure amidst a city and culture of stiff tradition and overbearing formality. The walls are soundproof, the entrances and hallways discreet, and the atmosphere rife with excitement. It’s amidst this anticipation I stand, my hand reaching for my wallet that holds the Japanese yen I’ll use to pay for tonight’s little slice of heaven. I move closer to the board to get to know each room’s contents intimately.

Each one has its own theme, its own toys and unique furnishings. An underwater observatory with its walls swirling in cerulean blue around a circular bed. An English countryside cottage, the roof thatched and the white plaster walls surrounding a cozy fireplace. A metal dungeon with leather straps hanging from the ceiling, and just enough reddish light to keep things intriguing and lustful. My eyes move from the room selections to this enigmatic beauty who stands before me. Her long, colorful nails click against each other as they clasp the plastic bag of snacks we grabbed from the convenient store around the corner. Just enough food, alcohol, and hydration to keep us going until the morning. And maybe a few hours past that.

We’ve been here before, and we know what’s coming. But that doesn’t make it any less enticing. She’s new enough to me to get me hard at the slightest glance. I’m new enough to her to make her consider every single fantasy and drop every wall. The kind of attraction that makes the idea of public space disappear and everything but our bodies and breath melt away into nothing. We both would desecrate this very lobby if we felt like it. And we do. We already ruined an internet cafe booth this week, and last week got kicked out of a karaoke bar. But we know there’s ample room just upstairs. And we can wait another ten minutes. Barely.

“This one.” I place my finger on a red button. A buzzer sounds and an opening takes my cash. A small key with a room number engraved on it spouts out below. I grab the key and take the bag of goodies from her. She cups my cheeks in her jeweled fingers and kisses me fully and hard. I can feel the energy in her lips. Every hair on my body perks up. I press her against the wall as the elevator door opens by onwingiris.biz itself, inviting us in. We shift into its four walls, faces never separating. I feel her hips cemented into mine as the portal takes us up.

Love Hotel elevators are designed to never stop at any floor but one’s destination, in order to avoid any unwanted encounters. We wouldn’t notice if there was one. Right now, she’s my entire universe. I feel drunk and wildly alert at the same time.

The doors open on our floor, and I practically lift her down the hallway. Room 113 — I push her softly against the wall next to our door. Her breath is heavy and quick, our stares penetrating and focused on nothing but each other. She’s got one hand lost in the folds of my hair, messy from the elevator, the other hand gripping the inside of my thigh. My hand slips from her hip to her neck, fingers dancing across her lips and cheek before they trail along her arm down to her hand. Her eyes open slowly as she feels what sits in between our hands as my fingers fit into hers — the room key. She turns to the door. I stop her hand before it turns the handle.

“You sure you want to do this?” She smiles.

“You say that every time we get to this point.” I smirk and look down at the handle. She already knows this is just my way of building the anticipation. But it’s become our thing, and a little ritual goes a long way. She pushes the door open, and we slip inside.

A circular room, complete with the furnishings we need to feel comfortable and little else. A luxurious bathtub in the corner. A small shelf and fridge in another for our things. A massive bed in the middle of it all, with a wide window centered above its head. A simple room, compared to this hotel’s many offerings. But I chose it for a reason.

She drops the convenient store goodies to the ground and hops on the bed, bouncing on her knees straight towards the window. It pushes open easily, and a cool breeze hits us. “The river! We’re right above it!”

I smile, grab a small, golden rectangle from the grocery bag, and join her on the bed.

“We’ll have a view tonight.” I follow my words by tasting her neck and working my way down slowly. The golden rectangle falls to the sheets as I forget all about it. Here, soft touches and hard presses become one and we fold into each other. I lose touch with who is nibbling what and how clothing turns into bare skin. My tongue traces every inch and curve, her taste filling my senses and becoming my entire focus. My eyes are dilated and hyper-focused all at once, seeing nothing but the tan of her skin and the soft blue of the veins beneath it. I feel her heartbeat racing through the pulsing in my lips and tongue.

“What’s this?”

I look up at her. She tilts her chin as she surveys the bed companion I’ve brought to join us. The golden rectangle reflects light against her nails. A little giggle cuts through the heavy breathing. “White Chocolate…” She shoots me the cutest smile ever seen.

“I told you I love white chocolate.” I sit up and take the small of her neck in my hands. She breaks open the packaging and places a small piece on my waiting tongue.

“Let’s taste it.” Her mouth meets mine, the softness melting over our tongues at the same time. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.

I pull away, the sugars coating my palate entirely. I’m hooked. I break off another piece and place it on her neck. “I want to taste you.”

The warmth of my mouth melts the chocolate quickly and the taste drags down with me. I nibble, I suck, I lick, she presses into me. I’m already sugar drunk and I’ve barely started. Another piece between her lips heads to mine, but I take it with my teeth. It finds its way to her breast. I rest the little white nugget on the crest of a nipple, looking up at her. Her breathing is shaky, her eyes steady. Focused directly on my tongue, which moves over her areola and hovers above the chocolate. It melts quickly beneath my hot breath, becoming one with what I pull into my mouth. She sighs and rests her head back against the pillow behind her.

My hands caress and squeeze every part of her, while her hands find my shoulders and try to lift my face to hers. Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments. I kiss her chin, the middle of her neck, then in between her breasts. The sugar on my lips still lingers and my tongue trails from her stomach, past her belly button, and finds its way farther south. I look up. Her gaze doesn’t break away from mine. I snap off a larger piece, and place it just above what lies below. Her looks is equal parts eager and nervous. I wish I could tell her how sexy she looks right now. But my lips are occupied, ready for what we both know is next.

“Can I taste you?” I’m a starving vampire and she’s the one thing that can satiate me. Nothing touches my mind but what’s right in front of me, wet and ready to be drank from. In this moment I am completely hers.

I push my tongue against her, from the bottom up. Her pussy is so wet, it’s hard to know where chocolate begins and her juices end. I don’t care. It’s all the same taste of perfection. Her soft lips fall over mine, spreading open as my tongue reaches as far inside as it will go. I explore every fold and every feeling, taking my time as time itself becomes a lost concept. I’ve never had her like this before. Not in this way. Not with her filling my mouth, her clit pressed against my top lip while my tongue spreads over both sides of her. I can feel the warmth of her hot and pulsing, her hips moving in rhythm with my head. One of her hands presses into my hair, half caressing, half clawing. I see the other hand by her face, her lips wrapped around one of its fingers like a dessert spoon. The same fingers that taste of chocolate.

Her moans merge themselves into the sounds the city that pulsate outside. “Oh God.” She says it softly. Then again, a little louder. Then once more, this time so loud it’s like she is calling out to the neighbors in the room next door. They’re probably as occupied as we are. But they can’t hear us. No one can.

Her head bucks backs, pushing out the window to the sky beyond. I can’t take my eyes off her, a silhouette lit by city lights that twinkle like distant stars. My stare is transfixed, but my mouth stays its course. There’s nothing but the sweetness of white chocolate and the sweetness of her, intertwined into the most enveloping flavor and texture I have ever known.

“OH GOD..” She grips the window ledge with her fingers and arches her back, hair hanging above the river and city far below. God is definitely here. In the folds of her dripping lips, in the delicate melting that moves across my taste buds.

The weight of her presses down on my face, clitoris rubbing firmly against my mouth. I look up at the goddess above me, as she fills me, making me drunk. I want this to go on forever. Maybe it will. I’ve never been here before, floating above a metropolis and dancing with my mouth. I can see the buildings far in the distance, her heaving breasts like little mountains against the skyline. Her stomach and navel the valley that leads to the river of sugar I am swimming in. It’s a view that will never fade. They say taste and smell are the strongest senses. I believe it.

The white chocolate has long disappeared into the deep heat of our bodies, melting into ecstasy and heavy breathing.

She presses harder, as do I. Our intensity matches perfectly, as she slides faster around me and I suck her in more rapidly. Her thighs begin to press into my cheeks, getting tighter and tighter. Her moans turn to little screams, high pitched and floating into the ether of the nightlife’s many sounds. Her hand in my hair presses me so hard against her that I’ve forgotten that I ever existed elsewhere. We are one being, gooey and silky and heavy and rhythmic. If I wasn’t silenced from drinking in her waterfall, I’d be screaming along with her.

She tenses so hard I can feel it from my jaw to the tips of my fingers. I hold her there for a moment, a gorgeously perfect embrace above the city and its rushing waterway. Then her body goes limp and slides down into the pillows behind her back. Her hand loosens its grip on my scalp. I feel her breathing deepen, each inhale and exhale laboured and slow. My lips and tongue haven’t left their new home, just calmed in their movement.

My face pulls away ever so slightly, as soft kisses replace my previous movements. For the first time in what seems like hours, I notice the bed and the world around me. We are both sweaty, the bedsheets disheveled around us. A half melted chocolate bar lays on the pillows to our side.

The soft kisses make their way up the same path as before. My hips and hands move with them, our body heat a tether I don’t dare break. I fall to the plush pillows, my face next to hers. For the first time since she came in my mouth, she opens her eyes and they meet mine. We kiss and taste each other again. It’s intoxicating. It’s perfect. She tastes like Perfection.

Like sweat and skin and sex and lights and white chocolate. White Chocolate in a Japanese Love Hotel.

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