In the heart of Tokyo, a young woman, her skin like porcelain, retreats to her boudoir. Her kimono falls to the floor, a crimson puddle, as she begins her evening ritual. She lies back, her eyes closed, her mind filled with the memories of her lover's touch. Her fingers explore her body, tracing the path her lover once took. She gasps, her body arching as she finds her sweet spot. She moves her fingers in a dance as old as time, her body responding to her touch, her pleasure building until she cries out, her body convulsing as she finds her release.