3 Outsourcing

Nothing like seeing those young stupid underage little bitches trying to boost their cleavage with those obviously heavily padded bras and tight fitting, scantily clad short dresses from the tinted windows of my chauffeured Maserati.

Father could enjoy eating them slowly while they scream in agony if he still held his physical forms. That stupid old geezer went to fight with the Japanese gods. Who ever wins a fucking fight with any gods, unless they are a god?

No prizes for guessing who the winner was - he lost. Dumb fuck. Big brother had his head lopped off over a woman - for again - fighting with the godly backed mortal. Stupidity seems to run in the male side of my family.

Too bad. They can't enjoy this century's gifts.

There it was after the long snaking queue of scantily clad girls and young men - a large nondescript darkened glass building, merging in camouflage of the neighbouring office buildings. Betrayed by the same queue.

COVID-19 much? Just a drop of restrictions and the meat comes out to play.

The car door opened, and I got out on the crass looking red plastic wannabe velvet carpet leading into the squarish dark cavity of the club, with bass beats escaping amongst the squealing pandemonium of young overexcited adults in the queue.

As usual, there were always some who thought that they were fucking Miss Japan. Right in my path stood three anorexic looking wannabe blonde over-painted flesh obstacles wearing similar awkward lopsided bra props , mass produced stretchy polyester and cheap China made platform stripper heels. Their white camel toed panties were showing through those micro mini dresses as they tried to squeeze their bosoms together to tempt the disinterested bouncer into letting them enter. Too bad for them.

That's a fucking kitsune in human form. He could probably beat you ladies in the looks department when he shape-shifts.

"Please make way for our guest." he shooed them away tactfully, as they whine like a shrill drill and glowered at me.

"Don't you crave to mask their mouths," I whispered as I passed him.

He chuckled, "gag, tie and feed them to the river yōkai is actually my greatest temptation now."

I winked as Kyoko followed me past the dark doorway to the main room where the meat market was. Rave music was creating a wild crowd. Heavy wafting smell of mellow Chanel Allure and sickeningly sweet Christian Dior's Dune mixed in with the heavy musk like cologne. Fake pheromones to draw flies to the dung. Later the stench will mix with sweat and possibly the peculiar smell from fucking semen and vagina lubricating fluids. As it ever does. Still, the night was young.

The strobe lights were clearly rigged to fast beats of the DJ playing synthesised electro house music. The raving crowd roared. I kept to the dimly lit side path towards the stairway. High heels - I always wondered how women could dance in those three inches without falling over while intoxicated. Feet were moving to the crazy rhythms. Any poor fool could be unfortunate enough to get his or her foot stabbed by the heels.

Hips were swaying and gyrating to the pumping beats in the periodic flashes of the blinking lights, launching every shade of the rainbow into the crowd. A psychedelic light show of lasers shot out, to the crowd's delight. Some humping were already starting. Meanwhile, the more amusing ones were jiving, twisting and turning out of sync with the high energy rhythms, in an attempt to attract attention from potential one-night stands.

Oooh honey, that looked more like a seizure than a dance. The bar was busy and crammed with those calling out for more intoxicating substances. Or trying to create beer goggles on their target victims.

The kitsune were specifically gifted in entertaining to your heart's content.

Humans are animals. They responded to primal instincts easily, especially mating and reproduction. No matter how much more civilised they think they are, compared to their hairy brethren in the wild. Waxing off those remnant hairs did not make them special.

The entrance to the stairway was guarded by another kitsune bouncer. Up those stairs were where the VIP rooms were. The glass may look heavily tinted, but the hunters inside could observe their would-be prey. A few girls were already surrounding him. To him, they were vermin. To them, he was the gatekeeper to the elite rich, nestling snugly in the private rooms.

A whiff. A familiar mellow, musky scent.

Shit.

Yako is nearby.

Behind.

I swung around, hand on my back, ready to pull my hunting dagger.

Too bad. He slipped to the side and leaned casually.

Fucking hate the games he plays.

Kyoko was already under the spell of Yako's kitsune. They were making out by the corner. That was expected.

"Feisty. Just the way I like." He smiles coldly. "Still haven't lost your touch. And seriously why wear a pant suit to a club. Some breeze would free your ladies below."

His condescending smile - I would dearly love with absolute passion to hack off with my dagger.

Noticing my glare at Kyoko and his man, Yako snickered.

"Consider that entertainment for your staff. An employment perk. A night with Takeshi over there will make her feel… refreshed."

More like addicted to their seduction spell, which was worse than cocaine.

"So, shall a fellow Daiyōkai roll the carpet out for you, my dear? Or shall we get to business in one of the VIP rooms?"

***

"BMW. Heh when they told me about what your corporation was doing, I figured out that sooner or later, you might come to us," Yako said as he leisurely sat back in his tan leather designer sofa and threw our pamphlet on the gold rimmed cypress coffee table.

Perfect timing because their clubs were making huge losses from the constant restrictions during the pandemic.

"So win-win if you outsource some of your kitsune to us," I said.

"You certainly need to modify your marketing technique and since when do we do what humans want?" He leaned forward.

His dark eyes had a glint. Despite that early 20-year-old appearance of his favoured human form, Yako was as old as my own father. If not older.

This kitsune Daiyōkai was not even indigenous to us. He hailed from the ancient Qin Kingdom - a state in modern China. Masakage was his pupil and so was the other, Norimitsu.

"Oh, you have a better approach? Do share."

He sneered at my challenge.

"Ever heard of nine-tailed foxes in Thai history?" Yako asked.

"Heck no, only in Chinese, Korean, and Japanese history. Since when do they have foxes even?"

He tossed an amulet out on the coffee table and flashed me a sly smile. "Now they do. Nine-tailed fox amulets. We have expanded our business there."