DISCLAIMER

This chapter contains explicit sex with an adult woman.

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Chapter 18X: Final-D

Universal Studios, LA. November 2005.

It wasn’t long after the aeroplane’s landing tyres kissed the tarmac at LAX’s runway that the tires of my personal blue Silvia S-15 were grinding sideways across the set for one of the last shoots for the movie.

I couldn’t help but feel a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins, a burst of excitement fizzing in my danglies, and even a quick brushstroke of melancholy as I caressed my thumb over the sleek leather of the steering wheel. Today was probably the last time I’d ever sit in this car. 

Universal would have happily sold it to me had I asked. No sane business would deny themselves an opportunity to recoup costs. 

But one conversation with Ben Wyatt sucked the petrol straight out of that engine. 

Loathe as I was to debase myself by acquiescing to reason, my financial manager made some good points. I had no license yet. The car wasn’t even road legal in the states and was due to be shipped back to Japan, but most importantly, there wasn’t anywhere I was going to be driving that much until I finished Potter. 

Whatever, I’d just buy it off of whichever granny had it collecting dust in her garage in a few years, if I still cared enough. 

“Can you please not try to make my stomach flip this take?” Sonoya, the actress, dressed as Neela, the pro complained while nervously tapping her thumping chest from the passenger seat beside me. Guess my rapacious appetite for peril had rubbed off. Admirable, but stupid. I would know.

I glanced at the subtle flutter in her feet. “Aren’t hookers meant to have strong knees and tough tummies?” 

“Oh, you want to see my guts? Keep driving the way you do, and I’ll make sure you see breakfast, lunch, dinner, and breakfast again.”

“Yummy.”

I closed my eyes and concentrated. 

While Keiichi Tsuchiya, the original drift king, the real tofu delivery boy, was here, his cameo as a pier side fisherman wasn’t the only role he played. Generously, he’d shown me a few of his tricks. 

I approached the corner with a speed that bordered on reckless, especially for the extras who had to jump out of the way. Their life, and my career, flashed before our eyes.

In quick succession, I flicked the steering wheel, Sonoya clutched the handlebar, and the car slid into oversteer. Silvia’s tyres squealed in protest as I powered through the asphalt of the fake Shibuya crossing. 

Panicked faces reflected off the pristine body paint of the car alongside the towering green screen platforms surrounding us, reaching sixty feet high. Plate shots taken in Japan promised to transform this plastic Santa Fe set into a seamless recreation of the bustling Shibuya streets.

The car’s butt kicked out, and the G-forces kicked our butts as I controlled the car’s nose through the corner. I feathered the throttle and clutch as my feet danced on the pedals. With every twitch and tickle of my muscles, I forced the car to the edge of destruction. 

Now, as much as I’d like to blow smoke up my tailpipe, I wasn’t alone in this rubber scented skate session.

My chase car was a slate grey mini-cooper with a Russian arm camera rig that filmed the entire journey. Unbalanced, but still just as poised as me. And neither could I fail to mention the driver tucked into a go-kart, catching us from low angles with a go-pro style camera attached to his helmeted noggin.

Not exactly rainbow road, but damned if I wasn’t in my version of Mario Kart. 

As I reached the exit of the corner and shot frame, I eased off the accel and counter-steered till I went from Tokyo Drift to - much to my co-pilots relief - driving Ms Daisy. 

The crowd erupted in cheers as I completed the drift, the sound of engines being replaced with cheering spectators echoing off the walls of the makeshift Shibuya crossing. With a grin, I glanced over at Sonoya, who gripped the edge of her seat with white-knuckled intensity. “What’s for lunch?”

The answer was nothing, since she stumbled out on wobbly legs without giving me an answer.

I stayed inside for a moment longer. I pressed myself back into the hard chair and ran my hand over the barebones dash. “Thanks.” Stepping out of the car and shutting the door behind me, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of closure wash over me. And just like the car door shut with a thud, I shut the chapter on my time with Tokyo Drift. “See ya!”

Unce! Unce! Unce! 

Every and any person who’d ever placed the soles of their new and expensive shows over the threshold of a dingy nightclub’s suspiciously sticky floors would recognize the sound of a party in full swing. 

I hadn’t done so for longer than I’d been alive, but I was having a great time pumping my fists in lieu of actually dancing with any iota of rhythm.

The film was a wrap, and it was time for a faux Shibuya block party. 

Vin Diesel’s presence was fuel to the fire. We’d somehow turned an impromptu cameo scene courtesy of those from up on high at Universal into a high octane bash.

Guess Universal had indeed found an equitable way of getting rid of Riddick.

Sung Kang was on fire still, but this time, he was burning up the dance floor rather than in his upturned wreck. Cast and crew alike were sipping on cerveza and tucking into tacos from the truck that’d been added to the lineup of vehicles. Precious few others would work so hard so far past midnight, but still such a long hike away from dawn. 

No complaints from me, though. A perfectly crunchy and pocket sized bite of heat in hand only added to the already sweltering press of bodies.

And such a lovely body it was.

Her movements were fluid and mesmerizing, drawing me in with every sway of her hips. As she danced closer, our bodies moved in sync, the heat between us palpable in the crowded room.

Her hair whipped back and forth as she moved, a sensual dance that mirrored the pulsating beat of the music. I couldn’t help but be captivated by her, losing myself in her rhythm.

As she pressed up on me, I traced her soft but firm figure on my fingers. Her silky smooth skin was slick with sweat, but I couldn’t even smell a hint of that sweet odor on her.

I leaned in closer. Her breath hitched as my lips tickled the line of her jaw. I inhaled, but all I got was a lungful of shampoo. I didn’t get a hint of her essence, even when she lifted her arm to pull me in for a kiss.

She tasted like lime instead of beer.

No Asian flush. She wasn’t drunk in the least. Neither of us had been indulging.

The longer she squirmed all over me, the longer I grew, too. Let’s just say I had three fists pumping in the air. 

Let me fill you in on a little secret about me - I didn’t enjoy pulling out. As I felt Bas junior ensconced so safely between Keiko’s deceptively pert cheeks, I wanted to remain there as long as possible. Only issue was, as far as pulling out went, the hard stuff was coming out now.

Unsurprisingly, a Hollywood party wasn’t complete without copious consumption of hard liquor and harder drugs.

Not my scene now, before, or ever. It was time to skedaddle.

“Hey, I think it’s best we leave.” Her neck flinched as my warm breath blew in her ear.

“You do? I thought big American parties only end when the police come.”

I held her jaw and turned her to face the hotbox situation happening inside the hulk-mobile. “At the rate they’re going, that’s gonna happen, eventually. I’ve got a reputation to maintain, and you’ve got societal standards to adhere to.”

“I thought it smelled like cheap shu mai.” I almost kissed her nose when she scrunched it.

“C’mon.” I interlocked our fingers and urged her out of the set. I texted the driver Cadbury had assigned for my conveyance - because obviously I wasn’t here without permission. “I’ll drop you off at the hotel.”

“Probably for the best. I have a flight back to Japan tomorrow… or today?”

We giggled as we cozily trampled down the hall of her hotel. Hopefully, the doors were thick enough that we didn’t disturb any of the other guests.

She slotted in her key card, and the door unlocked with a beep and a click. 

Before she could swan in, I leaned on the door frame, snatched her hand, and pulled her in for another kiss.

“Mmm!” I felt two somethings poke my chest. I knew if my hands were free, I’d be unable to resist tuning into Tokyo.

We pulled apart with a moist squelch of our lips. I swallowed her satisfied sigh. “I’m gonna miss you.” Even more than the car.

Her brows twisted, head tilted, and puffy lips pouted. “Planning on going somewhere?”

“Home?” 

“No.” She faced me and walked deeper into the room.

“What about your flight?” My feet shuffled in without me saying so.

“Why sleep now when I can sleep on the plane?” The door shut behind me and her shirt rose in front of me. Those boyish clothes hid something so very feminine. Perky and petite. I couldn’t resist even if I wanted to. Like gingerbread crumbs, she laid pieces of her clothing on the floor like a trail. “Come.” I bet we would.

My ass hurt. The narrow porcelain lip of the bathtub I was perched on dug uncomfortably into my keester. But I didn’t dare move.

“Oh fu-!” My back curled without my input in response to Keiko driving my member deeper inside of her hot, salivating, writhing mouth. One hand and leg scrambled across the bath wall, as I desperately sought purchase or grip to keep me from tipping over. Though, as I threw my head back and moaned in pleasure, I felt it a futile effort.

The sloppy sloshing of her eager lips pistoning wetly over, under, across, and all around my beyond erect penis was arguably the best fellatio I’d ever received.

She was on her knees in the half filled tub. Our rampant love long ago flooded the floors with overflow. 

My other hand held the bun of her hair tight. I pushed and pulled at the silky black tresses, encouraging her to keep pumping her heavenly mouth. 

Her elbows rested on my flexing thighs. One hand expertly cradled, caressed, and clasped my balls. The other arm wrapped around my waist to pull me in - or rather draw herself even rougher into me.

I traced the droplets of moisture on her defined back and rippling rear. They journeyed all over her alabaster satin skin till they collected like a dollop of honey on the crinkled nipples of her swaying breasts. 

I wanted so much to pinch them, roll them, suck them, and worship them.

But she had me paralyzed in pleasure with each and every hollow cheeked inhale of my penis. “Ke-Keiko, I’m gonna-!”

I felt her nails claw at the small of my back. I felt the head of my dick be swallowed by the undulating flesh of her throat as she slammed her face all the way down my shaft till her nose poked into my trimmed bush.

Glurgkh! She choked me down and wriggled her head like an animal. “Aah!” I shivered. I curled even more when pulses of euphoria throbbed over my body.

Keiko slowly, sensually, with a tight seal around my cock, pulled her head back. A loud pop revealed my spit soaked rod.

My breath shuddered. I rushed to catch my breath in the aftermath of my climax. 

Keiko looked at me. She opened her mouth wide. Every drop of semen I shot into her pooled inside of her mouth as her tongue greedily wriggled, and savoured my flavour with every taste bud.

She closed her mouth; she scrunched her pretty eyes in effort and gulped audibly. Once again, she opened up. Empty. The opposite of my now suddenly very full balls.

“I love natto.” I don’t know if she meant the soy based Japanese breakfast item, or if she was saying nut in her accented English.

Either way - I slid back into the tub, she clambered over me, her plush thighs trapping me between them, and she speared her drenched pussy on my spit-shined erection - I’d give her as much natto as she wanted, wherever she wanted.

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