You are a simple citizen in the great city of Minnesota in the United States and you have finally finished your work for today, because you are a food delivery man for an Asian restaurant and today's work was very hard as usual, you are ready to return home and ready to rest, however, just as you are about to leave, the night shift supervisor informs you that one last fart has been received and you must go deliver it, you no longer want to continue working but your supervisor forces you by threatening to fire you, so you have no choice but to make the delivery.

So you get back on your motorcycle and take the food order, put it in the trunk and get going, you are not really happy because your shift was supposed to be over but you have no other alternative, so you speed up as much as you can to be able to make the delivery as quickly as possible and finally go home.

Finally after a 20-minute ride you arrive at your destination, it is a Japanese-style house with cherry blossoms and a Koi fish pond, it is a Very interesting place, so the first thing that comes to mind is that it is the home of a sweet Asian woman who lives in your country. Maybe this last installment is not as bad as you think and with luck you can meet her. However, your look changes completely when the door opens when you knock on it.

An imposing, rough and feminine figure stands in front of you, with an almost dazzling view of her body in underwear and a strong smell of cigarettes and alcohol reaching your nose. She seems dangerous with that threatening look.

"Hey asshole... Front view, okay? Don't make me wait any longer, I'm hungry so stop wasting my time and give me my food and tell me how much I have to pay you" His voice is loud, loaded with a dominant and powerful tone, so you give the strange woman her order and just when you are about to tell her how much the food is, something catches your attention, because on her arms and legs you can see large tattoos in the shape of... Wait, large tattoos? Cigarettes and alcohol? Rude and wild attitude? Those threatening cat-like eyes? That only means one thing... Is she a member of the famous Yakuza clan?

"Hey damn idiot, what are you doing? Stop staring at me you piece of trash and tell me how much it's going to be, I have more important things to do than putting up with a food delivery guy's shit."

She snorts, seemingly amused by your question. "Yeah, and you're Sherlock Holmes, right? You think I'm here in this shitty house because I wanted to retire, huh?" Her voice grows louder as she continues. "The Yakuza doesn't work that way, fucking pussy!"

Without waiting for your answer, she steps forward and snatches the money from you hand roughly, then quickly counts it before stuffing it into her robe pocket. "Well, good for you, deliveryman," she grumbles. "Now give me my food."

The Yakuza woman snorts again, amused by your offer. "I could cook better than that shit, no offense," she says, motioning to the cold food in the bag. "But since you're being so polite, why don't you come inside and I'll show you how a real man should treat his food?"

She steps aside, gesturing for you to enter her home. You can feel the intimidating presence she exudes even more up close, but something about it also feels... inviting? Or maybe it's just your mind playing tricks on you, wanting to believe that she's not as dangerous as she seems.

The kitchen is surprisingly well-kept, with state-of-the-art appliances and a massive cooking surface. The countertops are covered in tools of the trade - knives, whisks, tongs - each one worn and familiar to Ryota's touch. She moves around the space confidently, already beginning to prepare your new order over an open flame.

Without warning, she turns toward you, resting a hip against the countertop. "So, food delivery boy," she drawls, taking a long drag from her cigarette before exhaling smoke rings into the air, "you think I'm tough?" There's a challenge in her eyes that makes your blood run cold.

She laughs, a harsh bark that echoes through the kitchen. "You know," she says, flicking ashes onto the countertop beside you, "I used to be part of one of the most feared gangs in Japan. The Yakuza doesn't mess around." Her chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, her eyes seemingly boring into your own.

"But," she continues, leaning in close enough that you can feel the heat from her cigarette on your cheek, "I bet you could handle a woman like me, huh? Just because I'm not part of my old gang doesn't mean I've lost my touch." She licks her lips suggestively.

Without waiting for your response, she straightens up and turns back to the stove. "Almost done with this batch," she mutters under her breath. "Why don't you take a seat over there," she points to a low bench beside the kitchen table, "and relax while I finish cooking?"

She hums under her breath as she finishes preparing the food. You can't help but notice that each move she makes is practically an art form; despite her rough exterior, there's a grace and control in her movements that betrays years of training. As the meal nears completion, she pauses for a moment to wipe her hands on a nearby dishcloth before looking back over at you.

"Well, food delivery boy," she says with a sly grin, "you interested in sampling my cooking?" She gestures toward the table with one hand, a plate of steaming hot sushi sitting in front of it. "Or are you just here for the free show?" There's an invitation, almost a challenge, in her voice.

You can tell by her expression that she's pleased with your answer. "Good boy," she praises, tossing you another piece of sushi from across the table. As you eat, she watches you intently, as if studying your every move and reaction. The air between you grows thick with anticipation; she knows exactly what kind of effect her presence is having on you.

After a few more pieces of sushi, Ryota finally speaks up again, her voice low and husky from the smoke in the air. "You know," she muses, leaning against the counter once more, "you're not half-bad yourself." Her gaze flickers downward for a moment before meeting yours again, and you catch your breath as she continues. "I bet we could have some fun together, if you're interested..."

Her words hang in the air between you like a dare, an invitation that only someone truly bold or foolish would accept. The choice is yours.

Her eyes glint in the dim light as she answers. "Oh, there's all sorts of fun we could have," she says darkly, her voice laced with promise and threat at once. "You see these tattoos?" She gestures to her arms and legs, revealing the intricate patterns of the Yakuza markings. "They tell stories, you know. Stories of battles fought, enemies conquered." Her voice drops even lower, becoming almost seductive as she continues. "I could tell you those stories... if you're brave enough to hear them."

She pauses for a moment, studying your expression, and there's a flash of predatory amusement in her eyes. "Or," she adds with a wicked grin, "we could just skip the chitchat and get right down to business, hm?" Her hands flex at her sides, the muscles bunching and sliding beneath her loose robe. "What do you think, food delivery boy? Are you ready for some real fun?"

The corners of her mouth turn up into a satisfied smirk as you express your interest in hearing stories. "Well, then," she purrs, walking slowly around the kitchen island toward you, "come here, little boy. Let's find somewhere a bit more comfortable and I'll tell you all about my... adventures." Her voice takes on a husky quality as she speaks, each word seeming to vibrate against your skin like a physical touch.

She grabs you roughly by the back of your collar, pulling you close enough that her body presses against yours from chest to thigh, and then slides one long, powerful arm around your waist, holding you firmly in place. With her other hand, she reaches up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking idly across your bottom lip as she leans down to whisper directly into your ear. "First," she breathes, "you have to promise to be a good listener... and not interrupt, understand?" Her hot breath sends a shiver down your spine despite the warmth of the house.

Without waiting for an answer, she drags you from the kitchen, through the living room, and into her bedroom. The scent of sandalwood incense fills the air as she pushes you roughly onto her massive, ornate bed, following your every movement with hungry eyes. "Now," she says, sitting down on the edge of the mattress so that you're trapped between her and the headboard, "tell me... are you ready for your first real lesson?" Her voice is almost seductive now, taunting and teasing as she dangles the promise of her stories just out of reach.

"Too close?" she repeats, arching an eyebrow as she looks down at you. "Oh, I don't think so," she says with a low chuckle, leaning forward until her breath brushes against your cheek. "In fact, this is just the right distance." She places one hand on your shoulder, holding you still while the other trails lightly down your chest and stomach to rest above your crotch. The touch sends a shockwave of heat through your body as she begins to massage you through your clothes. "You'll see... this is where the real fun begins."

With that, she leans back again, her expression suddenly serious. "Now," she says firmly, "tell me why you think I'm dangerous." Her gaze flickers up and down your body before returning to meet yours, challenging and intense as ever.

Her lips curl into a satisfied smile as she hears your reply. "Good boy," she praises, leaning forward again to press her weight against you more firmly. Her hand on your shoulder digs in deeper, urging you back into the mattress as her other hand slides underneath the waistband of your pants, beginning to stroke your erection through your boxers. "That's right," she breathes hotly against your neck, "you want more, don't you? You want me to show you just how dangerous I can be...?"

She leans back once again, her gaze boring into yours as she waits for your answer, her hand still working on your aroused flesh. The tension between you is palpable, the air thick with desire and power. This could go either way... will you continue to play her game or try to break free?

Her grin widens at your answer, the predator in her seeming to feed off your submission. "Good boy," she coos, leaning forward once more and pressing herself against you, letting out a low moan as she feels how hard you are through your clothes. With one swift movement, she slides her hand down between your legs and pulls aside your boxers, revealing your already leaking length to the cool air of the room.

Her other hand leaves your shoulder and cups your cheek again, thumb stroking gently across your bottom lip as she studies you with hungry eyes. "That's it," she whispers, her voice hoarse from desire, "you're doing so well." She pauses for a moment, her breath hot against your ear as she savors the power she has over you, before finally leaning down and claiming your mouth in a rough, possessive kiss.

Her tongue invades your mouth, dancing with yours as one of her hands wraps around your throat, not quite choking you but making it clear that she could if she wanted to. Her other hand grips your cock firmly, stroking up and down in time with the kiss, drawing out moans of pleasure from deep within your throat.

The sound of your voice echoes through the room, making her shudder with desire. She pants against your ear, her hand working faster around your cock as she feels you growing closer to release. Her other hand releases its gentle grip on your throat, only to wrap itself in your hair and tug, forcing your head back so that her gaze pierces directly into yours.

Her kisses turn savage, bruising, possessive; the predator within her is out of control now, craving more of you. Your moans become rougher, more desperate as she nears the edge herself, her need for release becoming all-consuming. Her grip on your hair tightens and her hips begin to rock against your hand in perfect rhythm, grinding against your palm in search of satisfaction.