The White Glove Society

The White Glove Society 6: Easy Money

By ninja5

Introduction.

Ivy was not thinking that the padded leather shackles that suspended her had been custom made for the device.  Nor was she thinking of the commitment the couple had made having an entire room dedicated to the giant pot she hung above.  Her concern was more to do with the silk gag in mouth that prevented her screaming for help and her tiring legs as she held them above the boiling water.  Already her muscles were starting to give way and she knew soon she would not be able to keep her feet out of the bubbling broth.

Chapter 1.

Shorter than average with sensual cures; a round face surrounded by long brown hair; and gentle muscle tone all exaggerated by the little red dress she had been fitted for.  Ivy posed by the painting as the men in tuxedoes and the women in glamorous gowns paraded around the exhibit.  The Art on display didn’t strike her as particularly good, not worth a true students time to even to glance at, yet the sophisticated crowd of Tokyo’s elite paraded themselves and examined the art whilst drinking sake; Champaign; and nibbling caviar.  She had been hired to stand by the piece of art in her tiny red dress and attract a buyer.  Every once in a while she would look over at the other girls to see their strategies for attracting customers.  Several of her counterparts had made up stories about the art and tried to invite the guests to purchase a painting, others like Ivy adopted poses.  The girls pay for the evening increased tenfold if the painting was bought.  Ivy stood still, hands folded in her lap trying to appear submissive; guessing that the wealthy and powerful would be more excited by something they could dominate.

Prostitution was illegal in Japan, yet it was a 2.3 trillion yen industry, and represent 0.5% of Japans gross domestic product.  Loop holes existed which gave the sex industry life, but intercourse in exchange for money was explicitly frowned upon.  For discretion, and the client’s privacy a cover needed to be created.  All this Ivy had learned from University, but the reality was repressed men, pent up and frustrated who forgot how to treat woman when doors were closed.

Ivy had taken the job with the exclusive escort agency to pay her tuition at the University of Tokyo. Being naturally graced with beauty and a lovely body meant she had made good money.  Usually she just accompanied successful, but socially awkward, men to functions or on dates.  This was her first assignment were she may be required to do more than just offer companionship to a client.  Her reluctance to sell the painting was in part due to her nerves.  The clients visited the paintings, and if they like the girl standing next to them they could buy the painting and receive the company of its attendant for an evening.  If caught in the company of the young lady, the clients could merely claim to have won the favor of the young lady with them.  The Escort agency kept no records of clients, or of the girls.  Everything was done in secret seemingly to protect the reputation of the clients, and it paid very well.

“The blondes and redhead are always more popular than us brunettes.”

Ivy was startled by the slender and beautiful woman who had appeared by her side.  She was standing in front of the painting examining it, the first to do so all evening.  “American?” Ivy asked, not sure if this women was one of the working girls or one of the clients.  The absence of a red dress suggested she was a potential client.  She wore a short black dress that showed of long shapely legs covered in black stockings.  Her hips were narrow, but her waist even thinner.  She had two perfect small breasts and delicate muscle tone on her shoulders, even her collar bones had appealing shape, on display in her strapless dress.  The woman appeared elegant and she was poised with grace, but on the left corner of her mouth twitched as if irritated.  Ivy, having had a cousin with Tourettes immediately recognized the tell tale signs of a nervous tic.

The woman turned from the painting, her light wavy brown hair bouncing back into shape.  “Formerly American.  My husband is Japanese, so that means I have to be Japanese.”   Again her mouth twitched in an unconscious motor response.

Ivy remembered the reaction of her first Japanese boyfriends’ parents when he took her to meet them.  As she looked at the woman she wondered if how someone so beautiful navigated such occasions with the twitch.  Those of pompous upbringing often looked for any excuse to bring down someone so enviable.  Too many traditional Japanese nervous disorders were considered a curse, or weakness.  “They can be a harsh people at times, but when it comes to desire, we’re very exotic to them.” 

Across the room a commotion was accompanied by an attendant was removing a painting.  A redhead girl, no older than nineteen, followed a gentlemen and the attendant to the exit.  She had just been bought.  “Some more than others.”  The woman said, and Ivy couldn’t tell if she approved or disapproved of the practice.  “You’re older than most of the girls here.”

“Twenty-five.”  Ivy admitted.

The woman smile politely.  “I’d like to stay here until my husband notices my hovering at your painting.  Unlike most successful Japanese men, he desires more than sleeping with teenage girls just out of their virginity.”

The directness of the woman was in contrast to the other clientele, most of whom seemed to examine the painting and sneak looks at the girls as if they were about to commit the ultimate act of taboo.  Ivy guessed that her consent to let her husband sleep with another woman was perhaps dependant on her choosing his partner.  The woman was staring at the art, but crinkled her nose in disgust.  “They’re not even trying anymore.  This painting is terrible.”  The woman turned and smiled as if about to laugh.  The light heart nature of the woman put Ivy at ease, and it was strangely refreshing to see the mannerism of a Westerner other than the European girls working alongside her.

A short; overweight; and drunk Japanese man in a tuxedo stumbled into Ivy’s view as she turned back to her pose.  Upon making eye contact she immediately regretted it.  The man stumbled directly towards her, his white shirts tails un-tucked.  The woman at the painting tilted her head, somehow alerted to the advance by checking the scene through her peripheral vision.

As he drew close, the man said something in Japanese neither woman could understand, clearly having drunken too much Sake.  He wobbled in place looking Ivy up and down grinning.  Ivy tried to remain composed and looked forward, not wishing to engage the man who was making the scene.  He turned his attention to the American woman in the short black dress survey her shallow curves.  He mumbled something in a deep drunken voice; again Ivy couldn’t make it out.

“Saruwatari” The woman said calmly, naming the fool, but not turning to speak with him.

“Foreign peach.” The man slurred aggressively and reached forward to grab the woman’s buttocks.

A hand intercepted Saruwatari’s hand.  At first he looked angry but as he turned to face the obstructer his face turned white and his eyes wide.  “Komatsu!”  He said, naming the six foot Japanese man who clutched his wrist.  The muscular man said nothing.  Ivy saw security get into place from across the room, but they made no effort to approach.  Komatsu narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip of the man’s wrist.  Saruwatari cried out in pain and started to apologize in Japanese, begging for forgiveness.  The woman still hadn’t turned around; she seemed to know how the confrontation would end.  She turned to Ivy.  “Don’t worry; you won’t be going home with this fool.  Saruwatari was just leaving.”

“Yes. Yes.”  Saruwatari said through the pain, knees bent.  The tall Japanese man let go of his the drunkards wrist and Saruwatari backed away bowing in apology before heading past the waiting security out the exit.

Ivy looked at the Japanese man who didn’t need to even straighten his suit.  He was handsome and muscular (like a gymnast) and his white collar was low enough to see numerous green and red tattoo’s around his neck.  He looked as though he was capable of handling most situations.  He stepped towards the American woman and placed his arm around her chest, affectionately pulling her off balance so she leaned back into him.  Public displays of affection were not common in Japanese culture and usually indicated passionate love.  Ivy saw the woman take the man’s hand, their wedding bands touching.

“I like this one.” The woman said, and the man turned his gaze to Ivy.

Ivy felt nervous at the stoic gaze.  The man merely nodded at Ivy and then turned to one of the wondering organizers and repeated the nodded.  The couple broke their embrace and an attendant came and removed the painting carefully from the wall.

“My husband’s name is “Komatsu Takeshi.”  The American woman with the tic said as an attendant removed the painting from the wall and carried it away.

Ivy, guessing Komatsu was a Japanese Japanese turned to face him and bowed.  She smiled gracefully as Komatsu bowed back, again put at ease with the respect she was being treated with despite her station.  “My name is Ivy” she said in English.

“Will you join us Ivy?” The woman asked gesturing for her to follow the painting out the exit with the couple.

Ivy hesitated for a moment and the American woman picked up on it.

“Timidness is for the little Japanese girls who shy away from sex Ivy.”  The woman said. 

Ivy stuttered in her motion to move towards the couple, but as the American woman extended her arm for Ivy she forced herself to seem comfortable.

The woman chuckled to herself as they began to walk, arms linked.  Komatsu walked by their side like a security guard and the crowd parted to let them through, the couple seeming to have some influence over the other party goers.  “My Japanese name is Kumiko, but you may call me Kimberly since we are both American.  And thank you for not staring my tic.”

Chapter 2.

Her mouth dropped open.

“You disapprove?”  Kimberly whispered in Ivy’s ear as the two women watched Komatsu remove his white shirt from their position lying on the large bed.  Ivy had correctly guessed the gymnast’s body, but had not been prepared for ornamental dragon tattoo that completely covered Komatsu’s upper body, its serpentine tail wrapping around his torso.  Several scales and tendrils had been drawn to complement both jaggered and straight scars.  The dragons body had partly been disfigured by a circular wound with a red aerial (a gunshot wound on his left pectoral) where fairy tales say the heart is.  On his right shoulder the cheese-grater texture indicated a healed large and serious burn.  Ivy gasped at the realization that at some point in time Komatsu had been on fire.  Ivy nervously looked at Komatsu’s right hand.  The upper part of his pinky was missing, a tell tale sign of the Yakuza.  The reaction of the drunkard, and the space given to him as they left suddenly made sense to Ivy.

“Ivy” Kimberly said from her side, and Ivy tuned away from Komatsu to face her.  As she did so Kimberly place her hand around the back of her neck and lent in to kiss her.  As she pulled back from the kiss Ivy instructed “Lay still.  Just watch.”  Ivy backed away and stretched out along the edge of the bed in the red lace underwear she’d been wearing under her dress.  As Komatsu climbed onto it the bed he did not head for Ivy but crawled toward his wife, kissing her legs and then thighs as he worked his way to her midriff.  There he pulled away the tiny panties she’d been wearing under her black dress and licked at her sex.  Kimberly started breathing hard and clutched Komatsu’s short hair with her fingers, holding him in place.  Ivy realized that her company (as far as she knew) was to witness the act of them making love.  The act didn’t seem tawdry as the couple grew more excited by each other.  They seemed passionate and Ivy watched silently, in part happy her record as being chased despite her profession would remain intact.  Despite her self-consciousness she felt intimidated by the expertise the two showed.  They were experienced at pleasing, and their attention was solely on each other.

After Kimberly was brought closer to climax Komatsu pulled his head away and quickly drew his body up so the couple were face to face.  Komatsu was hung in contrast to the myth about Japanese men and with knowledge of her body thrust into her.  Ivy noted that despite heavy breathing Komatsu made no sounds, whilst Kimberly groaned and vocalized her pleasure.  The sex was fast and involved drawn out thrusts, but from her own experience Ivy knew Komatsu had gone down on her so they would be in sync when it came to climax.

The sex itself did not take long, Komatsu coming only seconds after Kimberly.  Passion spent Komatsu slumped onto of his wife and kissed her neck affectionately.  Kimberly giggled, indulgent in the attachment her lover expressed.  “Do you want to eat now, or should we shower first?”  She lifted Komatsu’s head and looked into his eyes.

Ivy watched, but she could not discern and indicating of preference from the silent man.  Kimberly seemed to however.  Whether a subtle turn of the mouth or, or movement of the eyes gave her the answer she did not know, but Kimberly began to rise from beneath him.  Ivy, unsure of her function rose with them, but as the couple moved to leave the bed Kimberly said, “Just wait here Ivy, we’ll be back shortly.  Make yourself at home.”

Ivy hid her confusion, but was happy; it was easy money just watching. 

The couple walked naked to the adjoining bathroom and Ivy slumped back on the comfortable bed as the sound of the shower started “Weirdo’s” she said, when they were out of earshot.  She examined the room.  The painting she’d been standing beside rested against the far wall, canvas hidden.  The décor of the bedroom was stylish, and she could see Kimberly’s Western taste everywhere, but the lamps, furniture, and carpet all had the Japanese/French labels so desired by the upper class of Tokyo.  Whoever Komatsu was to the Yakuza, he was paid very well.  Ivy knew how much money she was getting for tonight, how much the escort agency charged for her services was another magnitude again.

From the ensuite Kimberly’s groans could be heard.  The couple was at it again.  Ivy decided the second time would take longer, and she was curious to explore the apartment.  She climbed off the bed and walked silently on the carpet out of the bedroom into the hall in her red panties and bra.  The apartment wasn’t dark, dimmed lights illuminated her path past a study and dining room.  At the back of the apartment was the entertaining suite.  Ivy clicked the light switch and lit the room properly; she wanted to see how the couple entertained.  There was no television or stereo.  Three armless Vienna sofa’s lined an enclosed pit fireplace which dominated the centre of the room.  Above it the silent fan of a smoke extraction exhaust lay still, and the chimney that must have come out the other end was hidden.  A large cauldron sat in the centre of the fire place and its rustic feel was complemented by the slate tiles.  Obviously the couple entertained around the fireplace, though it was not economical by design.  Ivy marveled at the opulence of the room; from the earth toned walls to the fusion art (not like the painting she’d been standing in front of) that blended the modern and feudal aesthetics of the room.  The only unharmonious feature of the room was the industrial switch, which hung from the ceiling on a cable so it could be positioned anywhere.  Ivy guessed it was to raise and lower the cauldron based on the wire that hung above it.

“Do you like it?”  Ivy whisked around quickly to see Kimberly standing behind her wrapped in a towel.  She had not expected the shower to end so soon.

“It’s.. Aw… It’s very nice.” Ivy stuttered lost for words.  Kimberly was dry but her hair was still wet, whatever the couple had been up to in the shower had been cut short. Perhaps they had wanted her company and Kimberly had come to find her.

“It’s our happy place.”  Kimberly said walking around Ivy the running her fingers over one of the sofa’s seductively.  “My tic, never twitches in this room.”  Kimberly removed her towel, standing naked between the fire pit and Ivy.  “Come here Ivy.” She said.

Ivy reluctantly moved forward, fearing that she would have to earn her money after all.  She moved to Kimberly and lent forward to kiss her.  The act of contrition was interrupted when Kimberly put her hand over Ivy’s mouth.  Ivy was confused.

“There’s no need for that Ivy.  We’d like you to do something else for us.”  Kimberly reached over to the blind spot in one of the sofa’s and removed a metal and leather arrangement of chains and straps.

Ivy’s confusion grew, and this time unease was added to it.

“Hold your arms out please.” Kimberly said.

Ivy realized the contraption in her hands were shackles and took a step back.  “Um…. I don’t… this is not on the menu, I don’t do these kind of services.”  Ivy took another step back, but hit something both solid and soft.  Komatsu was standing directly behind, blocking her backward retreat.  His hands came up and clutched Ivy’s shoulders.  Ivy gasped and stared at the missing half of his finger.

“Tender, little Ivy.  You have no idea what’s on the menu.”  Kimberly said, and gently clasped Ivy’s wrist and moved them to a submissive position in front of her body.

Ivy held still, for the first time fearful of Komatsu and what he was capable of.  “Please.  I’m sorry, I just want to go.”  Ivy said, but her plea did not halt Kimberly as she fastened the shackles to Ivy’s wrists.

“Services have been paid for, and services will be rendered.”  Kimberly said, and tilted her head to the side with a smile.  She looked terrifyingly beautiful.  “Open your mouth.”  Kimberly produced a silk scarf is a knot in the middle out of nowhere.

“No, please…….” She did not get to finish.

Kimberly swiftly pushed the scarf into her mouth and leaned in to tie it behind Ivy’s head.  As she did so Ivy, felt the grasp from Komatsu intensify as if to warn her not to resist.  The couple was practice at team bondage.

Ivy whimpered through her gag unpleased with the turn of events.  The couple had seemed beyond being taken in by her looks, but now Kimberly was relishing in them.  Both of the woman’s hands came up and tested Ivy’s healthy breast, applying gentle pressure.

“Lovely.”  She said, and them glided her hands down the conforms of Ivy’s body to her waist and then hips.  As she did so she bent her knees, dropping down to the floor.  When hand hands past Ivy’s hips her fingers curled around the lace strapping of her panties and pulled down.  Once past her broad hips the elastic had no effect and Kimberly was merely guiding them past her thighs towards the floor, testing the suppleness of her flesh as she did so.  She rose staring intently into Ivy’s nervous expression, leaving her bra intact.  “It isn’t apparent is it?  Your kind never expects it.  But in retrospect, it will be so obvious; and you’ll wonder why you didn’t scream.”  She reached for the switch which hung from the ceiling and pressing the button called from the chain that hung over the cauldron.  It came without Kimberly breaking her stare into Ivy’s eyes, growing in apprehension.

Komatsu, ever silent, lessoned his grip on Ivy as Kimberly fastened the latch to the centre eyelet of her shackles.

“There are two strategies in this situation.  One is to keep your feet in the water till it grows hot and then remove them.  The other is to hold them out of the water so they don’t slowly cook as the temperature of the water gently rises.”  Kimberly smile in again in powerful exquisiteness.  “Both have the same result.”  She clicked the button on the pulley and Kimberly arms began to rise above her head.  A moment later she was on tip toes, then she lost contact with the ground, her feet kicked at the air and she began her journey to her new station above the cauldron.  She made no effort to hide the discomfort she felt as her own weight stretched her body as she hung helpless over the cauldron.  She didn’t scream until Komatsu came forward with a cigarette light and ignited the charcoals in the pit below her.

Ivy whimpered rhythmically in distress.  With her arms suspended above her head and her body pulling down against the shackles, her chest had a vice like grip around it.  She had to lift her body up with her shoulders to get a lung full of air.  But her shoulders were not the only muscles aching with fatigue.  She’d been lowered over the cauldron till her feet had been dipped in the water.  At first she had left them there, but as the temperature of the water increased she’d had to lift them out, Kimberly’s cryptic comment suddenly making sense.  She knew she would not be able to keep her legs bent and raised forever.  With the difficulty breathing and the ever seemingly increase weight of her legs, she knew soon she would have to straighten out and dip her feet.  The water was only getting hotter.

“She has wonderful breast.” Kimberly said from her position lounging on one of the sofas.  Komatsu was wrapped around her, stroking her affectionately.  “It’s not too late, do you think Gia would like another cow.”  She turned her head to her husband.

Komatsu shook his head, indicating she would not be spared.

“Pity.”  Kimberly said and after a pause “She’s doing very well.  It’s slightly annoying; I’m hungry.”

The couple turned their attention back to Ivy who had long ago realized this wasn’t just a simple act of bondage.  For a moment her left calf gave way and her toes dipped in the water.  She screamed through her gag and pulled her foot out.  The water was unbearable now, nearly at boil.  Tiny bubbles were appearing along the metal surface of the cauldron and rising to the surface.

“It won’t be long now.” Kimberly said and reached around behind her body for her husband’s penis.  She tugged on it gentle and glided her hand over his stiffening member.  “Any second now.”

As Kimberly finished speaking Ivy’s shoulders failed to lift her body up so her diaphragm could pull the air in.  She choked and in desperation straightened her body.  She wailed, short of air, as her feet plopped into the water.  Her eyes bulged in their sockets and she thrashed about, unable to find the strength to lift her feet again.

“There we go.”  Kimberly said, and stopped arousing her husband to reach for the button.  From her relaxed position we consigned her victim to be submerged.  The chain on the pulley wound slowly down and Ivy’s muffled screams intensified as she was lowered into the cauldron.  Ivy’s body convulsed and splashed the near boiling water around.  Her rhythmic whimpers now replaced with a scream from every breath.  She was completely absorbed by the searing pain and could not see Komatsu roll on top of Kimberly, his penis erect, aroused by her suffering.  As she received her husband Kimberly released the button and Ivy was left thrashing about, submerged to her naval.  As the effects of being cooked set in Ivy’s resistance to the heat grew less, and as the water came to boil she hung near unconscious cooking whilst her captors made love to her reflex cries and twitches of pain.

Chapter 3.

“Ivy sweaty.  Wake up.”

Ivy felt her face being slapped gently by a soft hand.

“Ivy honey.  You’re missing the best part.”  It was Kimberly’s voice.

Ivy forced her eyes open.  She was still in the room, but she felt strange.  Her shoulders ached and she could feel the cool shale flooring against her back, but nothing more. “Why can’t I feel my legs?”  She looked up at Kimberly.  She had gone into shock, and her mind did not recall the necessary information to bring about the flight instinct.

“Your legs are cook through Ivy.”  Kimberly said.  She was lying on her belly looking at her prey as if she was the object of her affection.  “Look here.” 

Kimberly placed her hands behind Ivy’s head and lifted it so she looked down her body.  At her feet Komatsu knelt, one of Ivy legs in his arms.  His head was buried in the sole of her foot and Ivy heard a gnawing sound.  “What’s he doing?” Ivy asked dazed.  As if on cue Komatsu bit down again and tore at a strip of flesh.  As the meat was stretching out Ivy saw him wrap his lips around the exposed flesh and bight down.  From her state of shock Ivy didn’t scream, but through slurred words asked “Is he eating me?”  She looked up at Kimberly who was cradling her head gently and smiling with fondness.

“Yes Ivy.  He’s eating you.”

“W..Wh…Why?”  Ivy asked.  Unable to process the information she was absorbing.

“Because you’re beautiful Ivy.  Komatsu and I eat beautiful things.”  Kimberly paused and then looked at Ivy sternly.  “If I eat too will you scream?”

Ivy still couldn’t comprehend the situation.

“Ivy?”

The edge of Ivy’s vision was fuzzy, and periodically bright dots would appear overlapping her vision.  She felt weak and just wanted comfort.  The only comfort to be had was in Kimberly’s approval.  “No.  I won’t scream.”  Ivy licked her lips.  She felt thirsty.

“Good girl.”  Kimberly said, placed her head down and crawled along the floor till her face was in line with Ivy’s thigh.  A moment later the sound of Komatsu eating was joined by Kimberly as she delicately nibbled away at Ivy’s thighs.

Ivy tried to watch, but the effort of raising her head on her own was to great so finally she lay still as the couple ate their fill.