Yakuza Bed Novels & Stories

He kept his image in check because of his position as my advisor, the consigliere of the Vitale Empire, which was the second-most important position in Cosa Nostra. “Got into another fight?” I asked. He followed my gaze to his sleeves and shook his head. “A fucking torture romp. My morning started with two street racers crawling up my ass near the Arena. Plus, I didn’t get any sleep, so you can imagine my annoyance.” He strode toward the sink near the sidebar in the living room. “Turns out they weren’t just any racers.” I arched a brow. “Yakuza.” “Those Japanese motherfuckers,” I gritted, reaching the glass table centring the living room.

Only one letter as the sender: H. “My game of chess isn’t over. The next king will fall. Be prepared.” Harley clenched his teeth. Tears welled up… then he stood. “I’m not a pawn. I’m not a puppet. You’ll see for yourself, Hideko—I know this is definitely your doing,” he said. — Autumn wind rustled the bamboo curtains. In a quiet, traditional Japanese room, the sound of high heels walking firmly down a wooden corridor was heard. Hideko sat calmly in the center of the room. Elegant. Serene. In front of her, an elderly man in military uniform knelt—one of the most loyal former hitmen of the Yakuza family.

"Do you know how messy Resti is?" The mention of Angga's sister's name did make Maureen curious as to what kind of person the two men near her were talking about, but it was not the right time for Maureen to dig into the life of someone who was not related at all to her current problem. "While you stay here first, is that okay?" Angga opened one of the doors to the room that made Maureen and Ben gape before entering. A masculine impression showed the real owner of the room. Many posters of famous bands from Japan with a fierce impression, steel tables attached to the gray wall without legs plowing the floor, and a single bed whose edge was attached to the other side of the room with tinted g

It was like she had met the man with the ultimate poker face. "If you wish to survive in a place such as this, Slave Keiko, I suggest you learn better discipline. Do not waste a single act. Do not waste a single word. Do you understand?" She wasn't sure she did, but she nodded, held her tongue, and waited for him to continue. "This place is one of dozens on the outskirts of Tokyo. The man who owns it is the son of a powerful yakuza. His name is Takashi Saito. He collects young Japanese girls, trains them, and sells them to the highest bidder."

He wouldn't kill him just yet, the fact that he was sleeping on the couch showed that Yoshiki didn't like him very much. When Kenchiki entered the room, he found Yoshiki lying on the bed. He had thrown off the duvet cover sometime during his sleep and was only wearing sweatpants, his soft hair spread out on the pillow, his hands were on either side of his face, and his legs were spread open, he was like a human starfish.

Hiroshi bowed his head respectfully and said, “Don’t worry, Miss. I’ll do my best!” Nanako smiled slightly and said, “Thank you, Tanaka-san. I’ll go in and see my father first.” Meanwhile, Yahiko was sitting in a wheelchair parked in the middle of his bedroom and study room. Yahiko’s room was a suite with a bedroom and a study room, and the interior decoration was a typical Japanese-style room with tatami mats throughout the room. A brand new hakama was hanging on the wall, and this was the hakama that he had had his craftsman tailor last year for his fiftieth birthday.

"Patience. All will be revealed." Another limousine pulled up alongside theirs. The door opened, and Kazuya Takeda, the leader of the Yakuza gang, stepped out. He was a tall man with a commanding presence, his sharp suit immaculate. He entered the limousine, taking a seat beside Nakamura. "Marcus," Kazuya began, his voice smooth, "I am Kazuya Takeda, leader of the Yakuza here in Philadelphia." Marcus's gaze didn't waver. "I know who you are. But tell me, if you're Japanese, why the Korean name?"

He looked back at me. “The Martinez'?” ‘“Hmm hmm.” “I guess I didn't make it to hell then. I was looking forward to that one,’’ he groaned as he pushed himself off the bed. His jet black hair fell on his face, over his eyes. I could still see the piercing blue. Even now, they were always calculating—scheming. “I'd be embarrassed if I died from a gunshot.” “I liked you better when you were unconscious and quiet.” “Really? You were at my bedside for two days?” He smirked.

– The Yakuza, he said, getting out of there, heading for the door, turning around, pulling the man with him, the Yakuza made his way to the door, closing behind him. He had his one hour of wild, zombie sex on his lame horse, in which he screamed like a man taken to seventh heaven. - It's good fun. - The Yakuza said. Sometime later, when the man rested, he got up with his filly still wet, dirty, and slimy, even for a zombie who did nothing but scream. Both took a shower, with the man washing her, he was half an hour later, with his best suit, leaving the door, where they both turned around.

Zenah nodded, "Yeah, although it doesn't work. But we are only friend and he's really not my type and beside he said that I am not also his type." "Oh... What's his name?"He asked. Zenah smirked, "Why are you asking about his name? You're curious? Or.... something else?" "Get the cobwebs out of your mind, besides I might know him since I was also a former delinquent before I because Quivan's butler."He said making Zenah's jaw dropped. "What?! Really?! Are you serious?!" "Yeah, I am serious. So, what's the name of this yakuza that you've been talking about?"He asked.