Hello, I’m Arashima – a Japanese man in my late 30s offering sensual massage services for women here in Tokyo.
Sensual Yoni Massage for Women in Tokyo by a Japanese Male Therapist
Most of the women who contact me are looking for a discreet way to explore and release their sexual desires through massage. But every now and then, I receive a request that’s a little… different.
Sexual desires come in many forms.
Some women wish to be tied and submit. Others, however, crave the opposite — to take control, to dominate, and to see a man surrender beneath them.
This is the story of one such woman: a stunning American Mistress who came to Tokyo in search of a Japanese submissive man… and found me.
The First Message from a Dominant American Woman
Her name was Lisa (not her real name), a 29-year-old white American woman working as an English teacher here in Tokyo. She had been living in Japan for about four years, sharing an apartment with her boyfriend and enjoying a stable, happy life — at least on the surface.
But beneath that calm exterior, Lisa had a secret: a powerful desire to dominate men.
She described herself as very dominant and confessed that she often fantasized about teasing, humiliating, and controlling a man completely. What she wanted wasn’t a typical massage — she wanted a man who would serve her, a submissive Japanese male who would obey her desires without resistance.
One day, while browsing YouTube, she stumbled upon a video from “Oil Massage channel for women in Tokyo” — a channel where I share gentle, Aromatherapy massage techniques for women. Something about my style must have caught her attention, because she sent me a message shortly after.
“Hi! My name is Lisa. I saw your videos on YouTube and I’m very interested in your service. Do you also offer it for foreign women?”
Attached to her message was a detailed request form:
【 Nickname 】：Lisa
【 Age 】：29
【 Height (cm) 】：163
【 Weight 】：51～55kg
【 Nationality 】：American
【 Occupation 】：Teacher
【 E-mail address 】：●●
【 Area where you want me to come 】：Tokyo
【 Service contents 】：
Aroma therapy massage
Sexual/Erotic oil massage
Fingering
Oral sex (Cunnilingus)
She added a cheeky note at the end:
“Hmmm… What we do will depend on my mood, but I’ll be having wine and you’ll massage me.”
I wouldn’t go as far as to call myself a hardcore masochist — but I do have a submissive side. The idea of being dominated by a confident, beautiful foreign woman was both intimidating and incredibly arousing.
To be honest, I felt a bit nervous. A dominant American Mistress? I thought that was out of my comfort zone.
But she wanted to meet. And I’ve always believed that life is about taking chances and embracing new experiences — especially the ones that scare you a little.
This happened a few years ago, and for a long time I hesitated to write about it because, well… let’s just say it was a bit kinky.
But here it is — a true Femdom experience with a dominant American woman in Tokyo.
Discover Your Inner Domme: Where Femdom Women Explore Power in Tokyo
Meeting the Mistress in Taito, Tokyo
“Let me know when you arrive. I’m very close to the station. Come safe.”
That was the last message I received from Lisa, the dominant American woman who had contacted me just days earlier.
She told me to meet her near a ticket gate of a certain station in Taito, Tokyo at 1:00 p.m.
It took about 60 minutes by train from my place. The station she chose was quite minor — not nearly as busy as Ueno or Nippori. As usual, I had only exchanged a few messages with her before our meeting, so I didn’t really know what to expect. But this time felt different.
She was a foreigner. And not just any foreigner — a dominant white woman looking for a submissive Japanese man. That alone made the whole thing feel a little surreal. I felt nervous. Excited. Curious.
When I stepped out of the gate and looked around, I spotted a few people waiting, but one woman stood out immediately.
She was clearly Western — fair-skinned, and hard to miss in the mostly local crowd.
Lisa.
She stood calmly near a column by the ticket gate, wearing fitted black slacks and a sleeveless green blouse — an outfit not unlike what you might see on a typical Japanese office worker in a business district.
To be honest, I had expected something else entirely.
In my imagination, she was a leather-clad dominatrix holding a whip and demanding I lick her boots — a full-on, intimidating Queen with platinum blonde hair and fierce red lips.
But the woman in front of me… she was different.
Her long, slightly wavy hair was a mix of gold and chestnut, soft and natural — more like the quiet half of t.A.T.u., the Russian pop duo that was popular years ago.
I hesitated for a moment, then walked up to her and said,
“Hi, Lisa?”
She turned to me and replied plainly, “Hi, nice to meet you.”
No smile. Just a calm, unreadable face.
Was she nervous too? Or was she simply the type who didn’t show much emotion?
“Then, let’s go,” she said without hesitation, and began walking briskly.
And just like that, my first Femdom experience with a beautiful American Mistress had begun.
Walking to the Love Hotel in Tokyo – Awkward Silence and Anticipation
Lisa mentioned that she had been to a few love hotels in this area before — with her boyfriend, no less. So naturally, I let her lead the way.
We walked side by side, yet a thin layer of tension hung in the air between us. She was American, confident, and very much a stranger to me. We hadn’t warmed up to each other yet, and our silence made every step feel a bit heavier.
Lisa didn’t talk much, but when she did, it was in bursts of rapid English.
I tried my best to keep up, focusing hard to catch her meaning, but there were moments when I just couldn’t follow.
Each time I missed something, a little panic crept in — What did she just say? Should I ask her to repeat it?
But instead, I nodded and gave vague, agreeable responses, pretending I understood.
Part of me felt ridiculous, like I was playing a role in a movie I hadn’t read the script for.
Even so, whenever I glanced at her sharp, beautiful features, that nervous energy would turn into something else — excitement.
watching how effortlessly she carried herself, sent my heart racing.
God, I’m so simple, I thought.
Halfway there, she suddenly stopped.
“I want to get something to drink,” she said, motioning toward a nearby convenience store.
I followed her inside, watching her efficiently choose a drink and pay with casual ease.
No hesitation, no small talk. Just pure, goal-oriented motion.
We left the store and continued walking for another five minutes until we arrived at the hotel.
She wasted no time: scanned the available rooms on the panel, selected one, told the front desk our intended stay time in fluent English, and headed straight for the elevator.
I followed her, quietly impressed.
There was something powerful about the way she took charge of the entire situation.
As we stepped into the elevator together, I could feel the tension inside me rise again — not from fear, but from anticipation.
I had no idea what would happen in that room, but I could tell this was going to be an unforgettable Femdom experience.
Her Commands Begin the Moment We Enter the Room
The room was exactly what you’d expect from a typical Tokyo love hotel — slightly flashy, with a faint glow from mood lighting, but clean and surprisingly spacious.
Not bad at all.
Without a word, Lisa plopped herself face down on the bed, a vape between her lips, and casually began flipping through the room service menu.
Apparently, the hotel offered a complimentary drink and snack for each guest.
“You can choose a drink too,” she said, blowing out a cloud of vapor.
“Order by that phone.”
She nodded toward the phone on the nightstand with her chin, her voice slow, almost lazy — but unmistakably commanding.
There was a kind of quiet authority in the way she spoke, as if she was already used to being obeyed.
Since her Japanese wasn’t great, I placed the call to room service on her behalf.
“So hot today. Turn on an air conditioner,” she said without looking at me.
I started scanning the room for the remote. Where was it?
She, meanwhile, lay there like a queen — carefree and fully in control.
It hit me then — maybe she was already playing the role of the Mistress. Or maybe this wasn’t a role at all.
I didn’t mind. Something inside me… liked it.
The part of me that leans submissive felt oddly comfortable, even thrilled, obeying her.
But after several minutes of searching for the remote with no luck, I hesitantly asked her for help.
She sighed — loudly — and sat up.
With a cold, slightly irritated look, she walked over to the bed’s headboard, reached behind a small lamp, and pulled out the remote.
Then she turned toward me, locked eyes with a glare that said “Useless.”
She pressed the remote firmly into my chest without a word.
Yep. She’s definitely a sadist, I thought.
“S-sorry…” I muttered automatically, thrown off by the sheer force of her presence.
The atmosphere was intense. I wasn’t sure if we had officially started our “play,” or if this was just her natural demeanor.
She sat down at the edge of the bed and pulled a small bottle of massage cream from her bag.
“Massage my legs,” she said, holding the cream out toward me.
I knelt in front of her.
Without hesitation, she extended one of her long legs and placed it across my lap, like she had done it a hundred times before.
Expressionless, she looked down at me.
I took a generous amount of cream and started massaging her feet, her calves, her ankles.
She didn’t react — didn’t tell me if it felt good or not — but something in her posture seemed just a bit more relaxed.
A few minutes passed. Then she picked up her phone and started tapping on it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of some mobile game on her screen.
And then, as if remembering something:
“By the way…”
She looked at me. Her expression didn’t change.
“Why do you wear these clothes? Take off all clothes.”
Kissing the Feet of My Mistress
She tugged gently at the hem of my shirt and looked at me.
But honestly… I didn’t feel great about my body.
I wasn’t exactly eager to strip down in front of her.
“Stand up.”
Her tone was firm this time — not a suggestion, but an order.
I hesitated for a second too long.
“Take. Off. Clothes.”
There was no room left for negotiation.
Reluctantly, I obeyed. I pulled off my T-shirt, then awkwardly stepped out of my pants.
Now I was just standing there in my underwear — vulnerable and exposed.
“I said all clothes.”
Her voice was cold, patient, and merciless.
I panicked. “It’s a bit cold,” I mumbled. “Can I keep these on… for now?”
She sighed. “Okay,” she said flatly, as if humoring a stubborn child.
Even in the middle of submission, some part of my male pride still clung to me. I wasn’t a very good sub, was I?
“You look skinny,” she said with a sudden smirk.
It was the first time I’d seen her smile all day.
Then she raised one perfectly shaped foot and held it up in front of my face.
“Kiss.”
There was no ambiguity. No way to pretend I misunderstood.
She wanted me to kiss her feet.
For a split second, shame pulsed through me. But this time, I didn’t resist.
I leaned in and began placing soft kisses across her toes, her instep, and the top of her foot — again and again.
She watched with a twisted grin, laughing as she said, “Pathetic.”
That word — pathetic — hit me harder than I expected.
And yet… it made something inside me want to keep kissing.
She pushed her foot against my lips, then into my mouth.
She tangled her toes in my hair, messing it up deliberately.
I was hers now — to touch, to tease, to use.
She was literally stepping all over me, and still… my body reacted.
Blood rushed downward. I could feel myself growing harder by the second.
“Are you horny?” she asked with a wicked smile, noticing the bulge in my underwear.
With playful cruelty, she started teasing it with her foot, grinding against me slowly, rhythmically.
The surreal pleasure — the humiliation — it was overwhelming. My entire lower body throbbed with heat.
But when my hands stopped moving, she gave me a sharp glare.
“You’re here to massage me. Keep going.”
Even in the middle of arousal, I had to keep doing my job.
It was like being trained — no, disciplined.
Pleasure was a privilege. My obedience was not optional.
Her laughter echoed off the hotel room walls — cold, amused, dominant — while I knelt at her feet, caught between shame and desire.
Humiliated and Turned On: When a Dominant Woman Ordered Me to Masturbate
The food we ordered finally arrived. She lay on the bed, watching a movie while happily munching on French fries, lying on her stomach and propping her chin up with one hand.
“Wanna eat?” she said, smiling, as she playfully fed me a fry now and then like I was her pet.
She’d been a bit cold earlier, but now she seemed softer—just a little more friendly than when we first met.
After a while, she asked for a massage for her back and lower waist. She told me she often gets stiff from long hours at her desk job.
Without any hesitation, she sat up, tied her hair back, and casually pulled her shirt up to reveal a deep red bra. Her full, pale breasts almost spilled out—it was the kind of boldness I’d only seen in Western adult movies.
When I complimented her, saying “Your body is beautiful,” she raised an eyebrow and replied coolly, “I know.”
She lay back down and resumed watching the movie, giving me full access to massage her. I unhooked her bra and began applying oil to her back.
Massaging a foreign woman who’s watching a movie while half-dressed—it felt like I was some kind of butler or servant in a sultry fantasy.
Her body was so different from what I was used to. Wavy brown hair, porcelain skin with a hint of pink, curvy hips, long legs, and even her scent—it was all foreign, and all so mesmerizing.
Normally, I can stay composed while giving massages, but something about her body stirred me. Without realizing it, my arousal showed physically, and occasionally I brushed against her thighs or hips.
Noticing this, she glanced back with a mischievous grin. “So… when are you going to take it off?” she teased. “I wanna see.”
There was no hiding it anymore, so I gave in with a shy “Okay.” As I pulled down my underwear, she burst out laughing—sharp, high-pitched, and unapologetic.
“Ahahahaha! Just like I thought—your cock is tiny!”
My face burned with embarrassment. No one had ever said it to me so bluntly. Sure, maybe I wasn’t huge compared to Western guys, but I thought I was… average.
“But it’s okay,” she added, smirking. “You can still make women feel good—with your mouth and fingers.”
Was she trying to comfort me? Maybe. But even though I’d just been teased so mercilessly, something about her dominance turned me on even more. My erection didn’t go away—in fact, it stood up even firmer.
With her foot, she gently brushed against it, then looked up at me and said:
“Show me your masturbation.”
The way she said it was casual, but commanding.
By then, all pride had vanished. I knelt on the bed and began stroking myself in front of her.
She watched with a smirk, laughing again—not cruelly, but clearly entertained.
“Feels good, huh?” she said, eyeing my face.
She reached over and teasingly pinched my nipple, giggling when I flinched.
She really was a true sadist—but in a way that oddly made me feel wanted, even if I was the one being humiliated.
But maybe part of me was still holding back. Even though I was turned on, I couldn’t quite finish. After a while, I stopped and looked at her, unsure of what would happen next.
Serving my Mistress: When Obedience Means Just Licking, Nothing More
I was still aroused, and unable to resist, I asked if I could lick her nipples.
She raised an eyebrow and smirked.
“You wanna lick my nipples? That’s not how you ask. Try again—more politely.”
She spoke in a tone that was somewhere between teaching a child and mocking me gently. It was condescending, but in the way that made something stir inside me.
I swallowed and said,
“Please let me lick your nipples.”
I wasn’t sure if I sounded polite or just desperate. She tilted her head, pretended to consider it, then sighed in mock reluctance.
“Hmmm… okaaay.”
She unhooked her bra without hesitation and let her breasts fall free.
“I’m such a kind mistress. But you better lick them well.”
They were stunning—full, round, and firm, with soft pink nipples that looked as if they’d been painted on. Perfect.
Without a hint of shame, she lay back on the bed like a queen expecting to be served. Even though I’d done this before, something about her dominance made me nervous. I wanted to please her.
I leaned in and took one of her nipples into my mouth, licking slowly, then circling it with my tongue.
She chuckled softly, running her fingers through my hair, her chest rising and falling as she breathed deeply. I couldn’t tell if she was relaxed or aroused—or both—but I took it as a good sign and continued.
After a few minutes, wanting to give her more pleasure, I gently reached out and touched her other breast with my fingers. Her skin was unbelievably soft, and my fingertips sank easily into her curves. But—
Yank.
Suddenly, she grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled hard.
“I didn’t say you could touch my breast. You only lick—like a dog.”
That sharp reminder sent a jolt through me. Just when I thought she was softening, she turned strict again.
I learned in that moment: obey exactly what she says—nothing more, nothing less.
So I did just that. I kept licking, wordlessly, as she went back to watching her movie, treating me like little more than a tongue for her amusement.
Ten more minutes passed before she finally spoke again…
Submitting to Her Command: Obedient Tongue Worship for Her Pleasure
“You like wet pussy?” she asked, her voice teasing, her eyes sharp.
As I continued licking her nipples, I could feel her arousal growing. The playful dominance in her voice turned more direct.
Did I like wet pussy? Of course I did. How could I not?
“Yes,” I admitted, honestly.
“Okay then…” she purred, grabbing my head firmly with both hands and guiding me downward.
Before I could catch my breath, she pressed my face into her crotch and squeezed me tightly between her soft thighs. Her damp panties pressed against my nose and lips, nearly suffocating me. It felt like she wanted me to inhale her scent, to take in her raw, intimate presence.
Though there was no strong smell, her body had a unique feminine fragrance—something primal and arousing that stirred deep instincts in me.
I wanted to lick her.
“Can I lick?” I asked, my voice muffled against the fabric.
“Sure. You must do a good job,” she said firmly.
She stood up slightly, slowly sliding off her crimson panties in a sensual display. I’d expected a bare pussy—many American women are clean-shaven—but to my surprise, she was fully natural. Her thick, chestnut pubic hair glistened slightly from her arousal.
“This is what you lick,” she declared, spreading her pussy open with her fingers as if to give me a lesson.
Her wet hair clung to her inner thighs, and the pink folds of her vulva peeked out, glistening under the light.
Taking my chin, she gently steered my face toward her open legs.
Lying on my stomach, I buried my face in her warmth, her thighs spread wide in a perfect M-shape.
“Ohhhhh~…” she sighed, a breathy, sultry exhale that sent a rush through me.
Her wetness coated my tongue—salty, tasteless, intimate. Seeing this exotic woman squirm and sigh in pleasure beneath me was unbelievably arousing.
“Yummy?” she asked, smirking.
I nodded eagerly, not breaking contact.
“What a good boy,” she murmured, squeezing my face gently with her plush thighs.
She seemed to enjoy touching people with her feet. As I licked, she used her toes to stroke my head, gently playing with my ears as if to reward me.
Maybe it was her way of expressing affection.
The sounds of the movie playing on the TV blended with the wet licks of my tongue and her soft moans echoing through the room.
“You are a cute little puppy,” she giggled, brushing my bangs aside affectionately and stroking my head over and over, laughing to herself in a breathy, delighted tone.
Her voice had grown softer, lazier—almost drunk with pleasure.
After a while, I realized she’d stopped watching the movie entirely and had closed her eyes. Her body shifted, and the instructions came more frequently now—“Fast,” “Gentle”—each word whispered with urgency.
“Ah… ah… ah… ohhh…”
Her moans became deeper, more rhythmic. I could feel her nearing climax.
Her breathing quickened, and the grip in her hands on my hair tightened. Her hips arched, forming a bridge, trembling.
“Uhhhhhhhhg… Ahhhhhhh…”
With a deep, guttural sound, her body tensed all at once—and then slowly, gently collapsed back into the bed, completely spent.
The Lingering Intimacy After Saying Goodbye: Reflections on Serving a Foreign Mistress in Tokyo
After our intense and unforgettable session in Tokyo, I walked with Lisa to the station. As we approached the ticket gate, she turned to me with a bright smile—a kind of warmth I hadn’t seen from her before.
“Thank you for coming today. I had a really fun time,” she said sweetly, her eyes meeting mine for a moment before she waved gently and disappeared past the gate.
That one sentence stayed with me more than I expected. It wasn’t just the English words, but the softness in her voice—the unspoken affection behind them. I stood there for a while, watching the rhythm of the station, feeling her energy still lingering around me.
Eventually, I turned and walked toward my platform, boarding the train that would take me back to my everyday world. But something inside me had shifted.
I couldn’t help but replay the moments we had shared in Tokyo. The way she confidently took control. The playful cruelty mixed with unexpected tenderness.
When she offered, half-joking, to piss on my face as a “thank you for the orgasm,” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud in surprise. Even in such outrageous moments, her dominance had a strange charm—equal parts commanding and affectionate. I think that’s what made it so addictive.
I leaned back in my seat, staring out at the lights of the city flashing past the train window. A faint, satisfied ache remained in my jaw—a physical reminder of my service to her.
Would I see her again?
Would she call on me for another session in Tokyo? Another evening of teasing control, whispered commands, and that disarming laugh of hers that came when I least expected it?
I didn’t know. But the hope stirred something warm in my chest.
Even after she was gone, she hadn’t really left me. Her presence clung to my skin, to my thoughts. The way she touched me, looked at me, played with me—not just as a toy, but with a strange kind of intimacy. Like I was hers, if only for a little while.
And maybe that’s what being a good submissive is about.
Not just obedience in the moment—but carrying her scent, her voice, and her will with me, even after the doors close and the streets of Tokyo keep moving.
Sensual Yoni Massage for Women in Tokyo by a Japanese Male Therapist
Looking for a Submissive Man in Tokyo? Experience True Devotion and Discreet Femdom Play
If you’re a woman visiting or living in Tokyo and seeking a genuine submissive man—someone who can offer obedience, sensual attention, and deep devotion in a private and respectful setting—I’m here for you. Whether you’re curious about Femdom for the first time or already enjoy taking control, I offer personalized sessions designed around your comfort and desires.
Let’s create a unique and intimate Femdom experience together in Tokyo. Feel free to reach out and start a conversation.
