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Contains adult themes and explicit sex. Read at your own risk.
Comments and suggestions welcome. Flames cheerfully ignored.
For personal use only - if you repost, please include this header.
Copyright 1996, by Javahead
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Note:
A lighter one, this time. You may recognize the characters from some
of my other stories. If you haven't read all my stories, don't worry -
they're written to stand alone.
The characters and situations depicted may be real, fictional, or some
combination thereof.
And I'm not giving too much away to say that there is a "Nita" - muse,
inspiration, and best critic. This was written for her. I hope
you like it, too.
Javahead
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"Paying the Price"
by
Javahead
I like living in the Bay area. The winters are warm, the summers
aren't too hot, and there are lots of things to do. But those
are just bonuses; the real reason I like it is they're used to
interracial couples. After a while, getting stares on the
street gets wearing.
Not that people are usually hostile - most places we've visited,
people are curious, but friendly. Still, it's a real relief to
be just another couple rather than Exibit "A". Especially when
you *are* just another couple.
Over the years, you get to know all the stereotypes. It seems
every possible combination has its own set, some more insulting
than others. Perhaps we shouldn't complain; white male/asian
female is one of the most common pairings, and seems to have the
fewest critics. But people sometimes ask the *stupidest*
questions.
***
I could tell Nita was angry when she walked in the door. She had
been bouncy, almost bubbly, when she left - after all, she was
going down to the travel agent's to pick up plane tickets for her
first trip back to Hong Kong in three years. But she came back
in looking ready to bite.
"Neets? What's wrong?"
"Oh . . . that *woman* at the travel agent's." She rolled her
eyes meaningfully. "I suppose she means well. But I felt like
spitting in her eye."
"But what did she *do*?"
"Started asking questions about my trip, and how long I've been
here, and our marriage, and why aren't you coming along this time
. . . and then she told me not to worry, that once I had my green
card I could divorce you if I wanted."
I started laughing. Stereotype number 1 - the green card
marriage.
"All right, what did you tell her?"
Her mouth twitched. "That I wasn't sure - that after all the
things you'd forced me to do, that no decent would want me.
I had to talk her out of calling the police." Despite her anger,
she was giggling.
I gave her a jaundiced look. "Wonderful. So I'm cast as a
sexist taking advantage of your poverty and innocence?"
She tried to look demure. "She'd heard all about it on one of the
talk shows - you know, the poor mail-order brides from third-
world countries, willing to put up with anything for a chance to
live in the US. It would have *so* disappointed her to hear that
I'm a US citizen. And haven't always *really* wanted a nice,
subservient, woman to be your combination cook, maid, and sex
slave?"
I snorted. "Subservient? *You*? Now the 'sex slave' part
sounds kind of interesting - when are you planning to start?"
From long experience, I ducked before she could throw a pillow at
me.
***
It was a very *long* month. Fortunately, the same project that
kept me from going with her took up enough of my time I didn't
have time to brood. Even with her letters, the house felt
lonely. Her return date seemed impossibly distant.
I was at the airport an hour early. I know better; if nothing
else, on international flights you have to figure another half
hour or more after arrival for customs. So I took along a book
to read and went anyway. I think I read the same chapter at
least twice before giving up.
When the gate finally opened, I almost didn't recognize her.
Nita usually dresses either stylishly or California-casual; I
wasn't prepared for the poorly-cut, cheaply made, out-of-date,
dress she was wearing. Rather than her usual pony tail, or her
occasional mild perm, she had her hair in schoolgirl bangs - it
looked as if someone had stuck a bowl on her head and cut across
the front.
"Nita?" At least her smile was the same - her usual quirky grin.
But when I got closer, she held out her hand to me rather than
running in for a kiss.
"Dave? I so glad be here. Could you help me with bags?" Her
accent was enough to cut with a knife - and even when we'd
first met her everyday grammar was better than mine.
Fortunately, I've had long experience with Nita's sense of humor.
By the time we reached the car I had recovered enough to decide
to play along with whatever she had in mind. In her last letter,
she had warned me she had a surprise ready when she got home;
after all this preparation, it seemed a shame to spoil it.
"Oh, Dave! You car so nice!" The clarified a little -
she was playing as if she were a stranger. As if she had never
been in this country before. I had a hard time keeping my face
straight when it hit me - she was playing mail-order bride. And
that meant I had my own role to play.
"We go you house now?"
I nodded. "Yes. We go my house now."
***
We didn't talk much during the drive home. She never dropped her
accent or the role she was playing. Game or not, though, she was
jet lagged out and spent most of the trip asleep. I didn't
press her; she needed the rest. I spent the time working out my
own role. If she was the helpless mail-order-bride, that meant
that *I* was the swinish, domineering, sexist male. This might
be fun - as long as we both knew I was playing. I mentally
adjusted my boorishness higher.
I brought her bags into the house before waking her. Even half-
asleep, she picked up her role without a bobble.
"Oh, Dave! You house so big! Can you show me?" By the time our
impromptu tour was finished, she was convincingly wide-eyed. It
seemed like a good time for me to take the lead.
"How long is your visa for?"
"They say we have six months to get marry. We better do it
soon."
"I was just waiting for you to arrive so that I could make the
arrangements. We'll talk once you've had some rest - you still
look very tired."
She nodded. "That good idea. Where I sleep?"
***
"I sleep in here? This you room! Where you sleep?"
"With you, of course."
"But we not married!" She looked shocked.
If I'd had a mustache, I'd have twirled the end. "We will be.
If you make me happy enough. I'm sure you can; you're a lovely
girl."
Her chin quivered. "I . . . I try. What you want me do?"
Slowly, reluctantly, the dress came off. I was impressed with
Nita's thoroughness - beneath it, she was wearing cheap cotton
underwear, the sort a poor country could afford. I
concealed my amused admiration under a lustful leer; after a
month without her, the expression felt all too natural.
As her bra came off, she twisted away from me, and kept her back
turned as the joined it on the floor. I had to swallow,
hard, before asking her to turn around.
It took a direct order to make her lower her hands to her sides.
She refused to look directly at me. Her face was flaming.
Slowly, appraisingly, I walked around her. She did her best to
remain still, though she couldn't restrain a jump when I reached
from behind to briefly cup a small, firm, breast. After a
reflective squeeze, I released it, to similarly evaluate a
nicely-rounded buttock. When I completed my circuit I could see
her lower lip was trembling.
"Have you been with a before?"
"I . . . No. I good girl. Virgin."
"I'm sure you are a good girl. Let's see how long it takes you
to learn to be a bad girl." I definitely needed to work on my
dialogue.
She kept her eyes carefully averted as I undressed. She must
have been stealing peeks, though; when I put my arms around her,
she returned my embrace immediately. Her fearful trembling, face
hidden against my chest, was a masterpiece: frightened
trading her body for a better life. It would have been far more
convincing if I hadn't felt a pair of erect nipples poking into
my belly. Despite herself, she giggled when I lightly tweeked
one.
"Are you ready?"
Her reply was muffled against my chest. "I ready. Please . . .
be gentle."
In bed, it would have been very easy to believe I had a shy
virgin in my arms; my respect for her acting skills rose even
higher. She trembled as I slowly kissed my way down her body;
she whimpered when I lightly bit one of her stubbornly-erect
nipples. She tried to push me away as my kisses crept lower.
"No! It dirty down there!" She appeared to be in a state of
panic.
I glared at her. "Didn't you say you wanted to make me happy? A
girl who's no good in bed doesn't make me happy." I did my best
to look intimidating.
I could barely hear her reply. "I try. I do anything you tell
me." Her voice shook. I have seldom felt more like a heartless
swine.
She remained still, docile while I spread her legs. She did no
more than shiver when she felt my tongue on her slit: Helpless
Woman giving in to Perverse Man. Most Helpless Women, though,
wouldn't be soaking wet at this point.
I have always loved eating Nita's cunt: the sight of her delicate
clit hiding coyly behind her pubic wisps; the heady aroma of
aroused woman; the musky/tangy taste of her juices. I seldom get
enough of it, either; normally, long before her orgasm nears, she
insists that she wants me inside her. This time, I was in
control - she was a helpless being forced to submit.
Despite her rigid self discipline, I could feel her begin to
thrust herself harder and harder against my mouth. I clutched her
buttocks tightly, denying her any escape from my probing tongue.
Sooner than I had expected, she stiffened, forcing her sex
bruisingly hard against my lips. Her strangled moan was the
finest tribute I could have hoped for.
I lay beside her as she recovered, admiring her naked body. The
slight sheen of sweat on her skin make her glimmer like polished
bronze. After a few moments, her ragged breathing quieted, but
it was more than a minute before she spoke. She dispelled any
thoughts of the game being over with her first words.
"That good! I never know like do that! What you want do
now?"
Though the game was still on, her sudden enthusiasm didn't quite
ring true; I sincerely doubted that a shy would be so
overwhelmed by her first experience. I decided to push a little.
"I'm glad you like it. Now I want you to do that for me."
Inside my best poker face, I was laughing; Nita, shockingly
uninhibited in most ways, has never been fond of *giving* oral
sex. I was curious to see if she'd play along that far.
Watching the fright spread over her face, I knew the answer. Her
quavering "I . . . try" was just a dramatic nicety. I propped
myself comfortably against some pillows, and pulled her head
gently into my lap.
Her clumsiness wasn't acting; she was doing her best. Her best
just wasn't all that polished. But as I watched her dark head
bobbing up and down in my lap, it took every ounce of self-
control I had to keep from exploding immediately. I cradled her
head in my hands; she took it as encouragement, and even
harder. The extra stimulation was all it took to send me over
the edge. My grip on her head tightened as I came, holding her
mouth firmly in place on my now-softening erection. Finally
spent, I released her.
"Swallow it." My voice was conversational, friendly, and very,
very, firm. She gave me a stricken look. After a moment, I saw
her throat work. I gave her an approving nod.
She swallowed twice more, convulsively, before trying to speak.
"I good?" It was still the frightened, heavily-accented voice of
the mail-order bride. I felt guilty, brutish. I also felt
stimulated, aroused by my power over her. Amazingly, I felt my
erection beginning to return. It jumped a bit when I noticed the
small white trickle running from one corner of her mouth.
Rather than reply in words, I reached out, capturing her head
again. Ignoring her frantic attempts to pull away, I planted a
firm kiss. Slowly, her mouth softened under mine, till she was
returning my kiss, her tongue duelling with mine. I could taste,
faintly, my own come on her tongue; if anything, it aroused me
more. We prolonged the embrace till we were both red-faced and
gasping. It was lack of air that finally forced us apart.
I moved back slightly, far enough that I could admire her body.
She let her eyes move down mine. She gave a surprised squeak at
my revived erection. Almost immediately, though, she rallied,
raising her eyes to mine. Her voice was almost steady as she
asked "You fuck me now?"
I didn't use any finesse. Not that I was rough; I just wrapped
the role of insensitive *trying* to be sensitive with an
inexperienced lover around myself. It was surprisingly easy;
though Nita was aroused, wet, and ready, her small, well-toned
body was remarkably convincing as an eager virgin. Wet or not,
it took an effort to slide my average- sized prick into her
pussy's tight grasp.
Neither one of us was in the mood for anything complicated. I
felt her heels lock behind my knees, pulling me deeper into her.
I matched the speed of my thrusts to her own. Despite my earlier
draining orgasm, I could feel the pressure begin to build once
more. I closed my mind to anything outside the moment: her
guttural moans, the sensation of her erect nipples dragging
across my chest with each thrust, and most of all the sensation
of my cock sliding home in her oil-over-velvet sheath. Gradually,
I felt her step up the tempo, thrusting faster and faster as her
moans moved up the scale. Her final thrust nearly lifted me off
the bed. Before her shriek of triumph ended mine joined it.
I rolled to the side, pulling her with me till I was on my back
with Nita resting on my chest. We lay there silently, too
contented and exhausted to do more than pull the sheet up to
cover us. I could hear her gentle snores as I drifted off to
sleep.
***
I woke up first, Nita still cradled on my chest. I did my best
to remain still, prolonging the moment as long as I could.
Despite my care, I could hear her breathing pattern change as she
began to wake.
She straddled my hips, smiling down at me. "Was I good?"
Thankfully, she had dropped the accent. Even her body language
had changed; she was radiating self-assurance.
I tried to keep my face serious as I replied. "That wasn't too
bad. Let's see how well you can cook."
Too late, I realized there was nowhere to dodge. Even playing,
Nita has a mean punch. Bruised arm or not, I grinned at her.
"That was fantastic, and you know it. But not as a steady diet,
thank you! And if I *ever* act like that for real, please punch
me again."
She put on her best innocent expression. "You *said* you wanted
a sex slave. What's the matter?"
"I've just decided I prefer domineering women!"
"That's good." It was her cat-full-of-canary voice.
Suddenly suspicious, I paused. Curiousity finally won. "What do
you mean?"
"It's my turn now. Do you remember the _Terry and the
Pirates_ comic strip?"
"Vaguely."
"Just call me *Dragon Lady*"
I never knew that a beautiful, naked woman could look so
sinister.