I can't recall when I wasn't horny. As a youthfull Japanese woman abroad, I found out a broader world of bodily joys, lovin’ the decadence of one night encounters with Western folks. I learned to love being spread and opened by the thickness and length of milky boys, as much as I had loved the perverseness of Japanese folks. Working as an office lady in Tokyo, I drowned in hook-up, constantly horny but acting so harmless even as I was always fucking with co-workers and married dudes. Like many youthful women just out of school, I lived at home with my parents, but became a denizen of the love hotels near subway stations, stopping on the way home after a night of drinking with my married co-worker so that he could release a day's worth of sexual strain on my face or breasts or belly or bum, depending on how he wished to take me that night. I couldn't get enough of men's thirst for me, drank their jism as the taste of their desire, scooping it off my face or bod and tonguing every drop as the memory of our encounter. I wonder how many in my office knew I was such a slut?