Dessert Read online

  Dessert

  Lily Harlem

  Nyotaimori was new for me, eating my dinner off a beautiful naked woman an experience I’d never been lucky enough to indulge in. So when a customer treated me to a meal at The Geisha Plate it was an effort to keep my cock under control and my focus on the food. Damn, it had been a while!

  But control myself I did—until, that is, the spice levels cranked to boiling point and dessert turned out to be a mind-blowing, soul-twistingly delicious blowjob. I instantly craved more.

  Plus I’m not a guy who likes debt. I had to return the favor by hook or by crook; it was an urge that threatened to consume me. Luckily my lovely Geisha girl turned out to be the sweetest woman I’d ever had the pleasure of pleasuring, and her healthy appetite for getting raw and naked with me for starters, main course and dessert turned out to be a wild ride for my every fantasy, and enough to keep me more than satisfied in every department.

  DESSERT

  Lily Harlem

  Lily Harlem

  Chapter One

  I stared around the boardroom. Aptly named, considering the long faces and glazed expressions. I guessed discussing the fine details of marketing strategy for trekking and survival equipment just wasn’t floating everyone’s boat right now. Hell, it was my company and I’d had enough of wading through graphs and pie charts, statistics and percentages.

  But at least it was Friday, which meant we’d shut the office at four and knock off early. That always brought a round of smiles as my staff headed out the door to wives, husbands, girlfriends and lovers.

  Not me, though. My girlfriend, who’d become my lover and then my wife, was now my ex. Ex-everything, including friend. Why Janice was so mad at me when it was her who had the affair, I still couldn’t understand.

  “Let’s call it a day,” I said, flicking off the PowerPoint and letting out a sigh. I aimed a remote at the blinds and they slid upward with a quiet hiss, revealing the brilliant white May sunshine outside.

  There was an eager shuffle of chairs and the hum of conversation rose. Betty, my PA, slotted her pencil into her notebook, patted several stray wisps of hair into her gray bun and began to stack her papers. She wouldn’t bring her laptop into the boardroom and insisted on using shorthand to take minutes—said if she didn’t the art form would become extinct. I didn’t see any sense in arguing since she was due for retirement very soon. I would then make sure I got someone modern and technically adept—if I was really lucky, someone with a sweet smile and nice perfume too.

  “What are you up to at the weekend, John?” Richard, my deputy manager, asked.

  Usually it was a question that had me shrugging and giving vague answers about hiking and camping out. Since Janice had dragged me through divorce proceedings I’d 4

  Dessert

  been trekking again and enjoying time outdoors, getting my head straight and testing new equipment. “Actually a supplier is taking me to dinner tonight,” I said. “He’s keen to tell me about their new range of digital compasses and satnav watches. Wants us to stock them later in the year.”

  “Oh, that guy from Koni who came in last week?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  “Where you going for dinner?”

  “Not somewhere I’ve been before. It’s an Asian restaurant in Soho.” I rubbed my lips with my finger and frowned, trying to recall the name. “The Geisha Plate I think he said it was called.”

  Richard’s brows rose. “Oh, very nice.”

  “Have you eaten there?” I clicked off my Mac and slotted it into its case.

  “Not a chance, it’s very exclusive. It has an annual membership fee and you have to be recommended. Getting a table there is harder than getting a private blessing from the Pope.”

  “Really? That sounds very secret handshake.”

  “Yeah, goodness knows what they serve for it to be so cloak and dagger.” He glanced at his watch. “Mary has us tickets for the theatre tonight, Billy Elliot, again.” He rolled his eyes.

  “I thought you liked your trips to the West End.”

  “I do, but seriously, this will be the fourth time to see that damn dancing boy. I kinda get the story.” He grinned. “Have fun though, boss. Bring me up to speed on Monday.”

  “Yeah, I will.”

  Several other members of staff called their goodbyes and within ten minutes the open-plan area beyond the boardroom was quiet. Only Betty remained, watering the potted plants that sat around.

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  Lily Harlem

  Wandering into my private office, I shut the door, inhaled the scent of polish that seeped from the wood-paneled walls, and glanced out of the huge window. The view of London was spectacular but came with a high price. Though what did it matter? I could afford it. Dare Go There was now international. With branches all over the UK, we were now setting up in France and Germany. Hard to believe ten years ago it was just me, running a small shop in Hoxton and sleeping in the back room.

  My stomach gave a loud growl and I was reminded of my dinner appointment. I had to admit I was intrigued. Not by the products I was going to be learning about, but by The Geisha Plate. The food must be really special or, another thought came to me, perhaps it was full of celebrities. Either way, I hoped there would be something that took my fancy on the menu.

  *

  “Mr. Alan.”

  I looked up from my iPhone as Rai, the Koni representative, walked toward me with an outstretched hand.

  “So glad you could come,” he said and gave a wide smile.

  “Thanks for asking me. I’m looking forward to hearing all about the latest technology you guys have come up with.”

  We shared a brisk but firm shake.

  “What do you think?” He gestured around the waiting area of the restaurant. One wall was made entirely of a glass tank. Floor-to-ceiling, fishy eyes stared out, their scaly bodies made up of a rainbow of colors. Some were striped, some polka-dotted, many had elaborate feathery fins and tails. The fish swam lazily in and around a huge slab of bright orange and pink coral, and skittered through a plume of bubbles that rose from a large oyster shell.

  “It’s great,” I said.

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  Dessert

  Rai gave a sharp little bow. He was of Japanese origin, shorter than me, with inky-black hair, brown eyes and skin the color of strong coffee. I was never quite sure what to do when he gave that small gesture so I bobbed my head and slipped my phone away.

  “You have never been here before?” he asked, his arms rod-straight at his sides.

  “No, never. But I am a great fan of Asian food so I am sure it will be lovely.” One side of his mouth tilted, balling his cheek slightly. “Oh yes, it is very lovely, a very satisfying meal.” He indicated for me to step forward, his movements sharp and brisk. He was the epitome of physical control and discipline. He once told me that he was a karate black belt. I wouldn’t have liked to get on the wrong side of him in a dark alley. Thoughts of Japanese mafia, the Yakuza, came to mind.

  I moved toward the large gold-embroidered curtain Rai had indicated. A young Japanese lady in traditional dress reached toward it. She pulled a cord that gathered the curtain out of my way.

  Avoiding eye contact, she cast her dark gaze downward, dipped her narrow shoulders and retreated in little shuffles.

  “Thank you,” I said, stooping so I could duck around the curtain.

  The room I entered was lit by overhead spotlights and nothing like a restaurant at all. In fact it could hardly be described as a room. It was more like a wide hotel corridor and instead of doors there were more heavy gold curtains on either side. But they were close together, no more than four or five feet between them.

  “Konnichiwa. Mr. Alan. Rai.”

  I turned at the sound of my name
. A short waiter in a black tuxedo and with the same inky-black hair as Rai’s smiled at us.

  “Konnichiwa,” Rai said, bowing stiffly. “Thank you for accommodating us tonight, Masaru.”

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  The other man bowed too, though lower and for slightly longer than Rai. “Please follow this way,” he said, straightening. For a moment his gaze settled on me, as if he was assessing me, scrutinizing me. But before I could feel uncomfortable, he turned and walked briskly up the corridor.

  I followed, stepping to the side twice to allow waiters to pass. One carried an enormous silver tray crammed with sushi and sashimi. Another rice wine and shot glasses.

  But where are the diners?

  I could hear the low hum of conversation and the mouth-watering scents filling the air told me they couldn’t be far away. Eventually, Masaru stopped at a thick curtain with a scarlet Japanese symbol embroidered on the front. Each curtain had one.

  Numbers perhaps?

  Rai and I stood next to him. My curiosity was growing by the second. Were the other diners all eating behind fabric screens?

  A waiter flicked back a curtain just a few steps away from me. I couldn’t see what lay beyond but the sound of male voices was definitely louder. Yes. That was it. The other diners were eating in privacy, each table a booth screened off from everyone else.

  That must be why the place was so hard to get into, and of course, celebrities would love it. Complete freedom from pestering fans and unscrupulous paparazzi.

  “Your service master will be with you in just a moment. Please make yourselves comfortable. Have an enjoyable meal.” Masaru pulled back the curtain to our booth.

  Whoa. Not what I expected.

  And I didn’t mean the low, cushioned purple seats or the row of red candles that sat above a brass bell. Neither was it the papery walls nor the intricate, four-foot-tall pink blossom tree made of china. No, it was the naked woman lying on the table that had my heart stuttering and my breath catching in my throat.

  “Please, sit,” Rai said, curling his palm toward the low seats.

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  I couldn’t drag my gaze from the lovely sight before me. Smooth caramel flesh rising over small breasts topped with dark nipples. The barest hint of ribs and a flat belly indented with a shallow navel. Curved hips and delicate, doll-like limbs. Slotted between her toes and fingers were vibrant pink flowers, orchids.

  Her face was heavily powdered to a milky white. The raven-black hair on her head spread like a silken fan, the hair on her pussy nonexistent, exposing two plump cushions of skin and a dark, tempting slit.

  “Mr. Alan?” Rai said.

  “Right, er, yes, of course.” I moved over to the beautiful young woman and took a seat on the low cushions. I had to stretch my legs out under the table, it was that or sit with my knees around my ears. She was now within a foot of me. I could have touched her, easily. I clasped my hands in my lap and willed them still. Temptation is a dangerous thing.

  Rai sat on the other side of the table, his shorter stature instantly making him appear more at ease on the low seating. The slightly smug expression on his face also made me think he was enjoying my moment of surprise.

  But of course—The Geisha Plate. The name did give an enormous clue as to what the exclusive restaurant was all about. Food served off Geisha girls.

  My stomach tensed, my underarms prickled with warmth and blood rushed to my cock. I didn’t have a full-blown hard-on, but there were definite stirrings. And not surprisingly, because it had been a while since I’d seen a naked woman. Janice and I had split over a year ago and apart from a couple of one-night stands, I’d had to rely on my hand, usually late at night if I happened across one of those seedy TV channels.

  So a delectable female lying supine before me, utterly naked, was having a more extreme effect on me than under normal circumstances—normal circumstances being when I was getting a regular supply of bedroom action. Something I’d never had to worry about since hitting my late teens. I was lucky, girls seemed to like my height, 9

  Lily Harlem

  sharp features and easygoing nature. And if girls liked what they saw, I’d soon learned, they got naked, sweaty and dirty real quick.

  Amen.

  “Sake?” Rai asked.

  I dragged in a breath and nodded, grateful for the distraction. My thoughts weren’t helping the pressure in my pants.

  He handed me a small shot glass of clear liquid. We touched rims and I tried to look cool and unflustered. As though having bare breasts below a clinking gesture was everyday routine for me. I was cool, it didn’t bother me.

  Hastily I knocked back my drink. The flavor was like wildfire, a crisp slap to my tongue. I hissed in a breath in an attempt to put out the flames and at the same time welcomed the alcohol hit that accompanied the burn.

  Rai topped up our glasses and I studied the girl’s face. Her heavily kohled eyes were closed and her enormous black lashes created long shadows on her pale cheeks—

  pale except for a round blob of raspberry rouge in the middle of each. Her lips gave the illusion of being in a permanent pout because the white powder on her face covered them almost entirely, making the blood-red, fingertip-sized dot of lipstick at the center of her top and bottom lips look all the more startling.

  I downed my second shot of sake, the scald no less intense, the alcohol equally welcome.

  The curtain drew back. A waiter bowed low.

  Rai dipped his head and I followed suit, as if I did this sort of thing all of the time.

  “We will have the tasting menu,” Rai said. “It is Mr. Alan’s first visit and I wish him to have the full experience.”

  “Yes sir,” the waiter said in a clipped tone before re-drawing the curtain and leaving us alone once again.

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  Dessert

  “We will eat off our living plate,” Rai said, gesturing to the woman. “It is an ancient Japanese practice known as nyotaimori. I thought it would be something a little different and I very much hope it will be to your satisfaction.”

  “I, er, yes, it’s an interesting concept.”

  I glanced at the woman again. As her chest rose and fell with her slow breaths her breasts shifted slightly. She had a freckle beneath her left nipple, on the downward slope toward the heavier underside. My dick responded to my perusal of such a perfect set of tits, my shaft filling and pressing up against the zipper of my suit pants.

  Damn.

  “She has bathed in fragrance-free soap and her body will warm the sushi and sashimi to perfection,” Rai said. “As you can see she has absolutely no body hair for us to worry about.” He looked pointedly at the aperture of her thighs and I couldn’t help but follow his gaze. The satiny skin of her outer labia was a fraction darker than the rest of her, a little rosier than the just-baked-biscuit look she sported everywhere else.

  I shifted on my seat, irritated by my arousal when Rai was so calm and matter of fact. I guessed years of dojo discipline could come in handy in more ways than one.

  “The girls have many hours of training, learning to lie still and quiet. For they are not allowed to move or speak throughout the meal, though if they feel they are touched inappropriately they ring.” Rai pointed to the brass bell just within reach of our living plate. It had a red tasseled pull string and a fire-breathing dragon etched onto the dome.

  “If the minders hear the bell, all diners in that booth are physically removed and will never be allowed back to The Geisha Plate.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “You understand that there must be such rules to protect the girls who work here.”

  “Yes, of course.”

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  “And you must also understand that The Geisha Plate does not advertise its unique style of serving Japanese cuisine. As you are my guest, it is my duty to ask you not to discuss the evening’s unconventional serving methods with anyone.”
/>   “Well, no, of course not. If that’s what you want.”

  “Some Western and Eastern cultures see nyotaimori as degrading. But for many Japanese, we see sushi as an art form and it should be a delight to every sense. What better way to serve it than on a truly beautiful woman?”

  “Well, I love sushi and I have to say I love women too, so I couldn’t agree more.” I held out my glass and had a sudden rush of appreciation for my supplier who had thought to treat me to such a unique experience.

  Rai filled my glass and his. We drank once more.

  “So,” I said, trying my best to get into business mode. “Tell me about the improvements in the satellite communication in the 230 model.”

  “There are many improvements in all areas,” Rai said, his face and voice also becoming professional. “Starting with the new lightweight casing, which makes…” He chatted on about technology for several minutes. I purposely didn’t look at the sweet body lying in front of me. My dick settled, not back to complete softness, but the tightness in my balls receded and the zipper stopped imprinting itself on my shaft.

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  Dessert

  Chapter Two

  Rai fell silent as two solemn waiters appeared carrying large silver trays.

  The trays were set on folding wooden stands at the foot end of our plate, then the task of spreading out our meal began.

  I watched, fascinated as a long, rubbery bottle-green leaf was set down on her sternum, the pointed tip just touching her navel, the stalk not quite reaching the delicate semicircular dip of her throat. On the leaf small pats of rice topped with slivers of vibrant-pink salmon and deep-rose tuna were arranged. Thin strands of knotted nori held the fish to the rice, in the center of the leaf more salmon, the thin slices carefully arranged to resemble a flower. Briefly I wondered what that fish would have thought about ending up as a piece of body art.

  Several pink petals were laid on her breasts, but not over the now erect points of her nipples. Perhaps the long tropical leaf and the sushi were making her cold, even though the restaurant itself was warm. The petals shifted slightly with her breaths. One fluttered down and landed on the table just in front of me. My fingers twitched to reach for it, place it back on her smooth skin, balance it on the sweet rise of flesh sloping toward me. I clasped my hands tighter, fearful of inappropriate touching and the bell being rung.