Hidden Nexus by Nick Tanner

evidently pleased, and turned to face Rumi. To his surprise he was delighted to see her watching eagerly over him. Of course he knew that she was good-looking, but he rarely saw her without make-up. She really was quite naturally beautiful. There were many women that had passed through the books of the Millennium Massage Salon. Most were forgettable, being plastic facsimiles of the hundreds of girls who had been cajoled into the ‘trade’, with their artificial beauty. It made him sick - in the same way that their panting dependency on drugs also made him sick.
     
    He was nothing if not a hypocrite.
     
    Rumi Park however, was different. She had a natural class about her, together with an understated intelligence. She was really far too good a girl to spend her time in a shabby massage salon-cum-brothel.
     
    Of course he knew about her circumstances – intimately. There were reasons why she couldn’t leave. She was one of many women who were here under special measures – a payment for the debts of their fathers. Rumi was Korean as was her father - a business man who had failed to pay. Once under his wing these women were easy to control. It was simply a matter of enforced drug addiction, until they reached a point when they knew neither who they were nor why they were here. Rumi had been no different – at first.
     
    He knew however, that deep down that their love making was a sham. Naturally he didn’t view it as rape, as it should more properly be called. But whatever you called it, it would have been more preferable if she genuinely loved him. Usually revelations of this kind would trigger an impetuous anger within him but as regards Rumi, his own feelings for her were too deep for him to see her in anything other than a positive light. Other girls had paid for their insolence but he couldn’t bring himself to do the same with Rumi. Perhaps he was becoming too soft.   
     
    ‘Show us your tits!’ he demanded suddenly. There was always a quick antidote to any accusations, self-inflicted or otherwise, of being too soft.
     
    ‘What?’
     
    ‘ Misete! (show me).’
     
    She did as she was told, slowly unbuttoning her tunic and then unclipping her bra. She stood, feeling vulnerable, in the centre of the room. She had perfectly shaped breasts, topped by strikingly pert nipples.
     
    ‘You’re aroused,' he smirked, pointing to her nipples.
     
    Rumi didn’t reply.
     
    ‘Play with your tits! Come on – sexily. And play with your pussy, too.’
     
    Once again she did as she was told, but she felt far from aroused and did what she could, albeit in a perfunctory manner. She was, however, all too aware that she needed him to believe that she was enjoying it. Her nipples could work for and against her. He kissed her roughly and she responded as if turned on by his actions. In actual fact it was a defence mechanism. In moods like this she had learned that the best policy was to submit. In moods like this it was best to summit – with desire.
     
    She didn’t think of it now but all the girls were aware of an incident when the chosen one at the time had not submitted. She had opted to resist and as a consequence was left badly beaten and slashed across the face with a razor blade. No-one ever forgot. No-one was allowed to forget.
     
    Fujiwara stood back and looked at Rumi who continued to play with herself. He waited for a couple of minutes until he was hard and then masturbated all over her breasts, face and into her hair. For some couples this might be an ultimate act of shared eroticism. For Fujiwara it was a method of underlining his dominance. It left her utterly degraded.
     
    A minute later he was back in his office.
     
    He was however, still not satisfied.
     

9 - In which a fallen aid plots the way back home
    Friday 31st December 11:15am
     
    Shinsuke Kinjo sat in deep contemplation, nursing a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold. He considered ruefully the last twenty-four hours. So much