The Beard

byUncleMichael©

My parents saved for me to go to college, but the stock market crashed right before I got out of high school. My parents couldn't afford to send both me and my brother to school, so they picked him.

We're Chinese, so the son always comes before the daughter.

At eighteen years of age, I had to get a job right out of school. My father wouldn't even co-sign for any student loans, and he made too much for me to qualify for anything else.

My dad knew Mr. Williams, a white American, my dad's lawyer. My dad said that he needed a secretary right away, so I raced right over and applied.

Mr. Williams said that I am very beautiful. He said that he'd hire me but that he need a big favor too. He said that he didn't have a girlfriend, that his girlfriend had broken up with him recently, and that he needed to take one to his father's house for the weekend in a couple weeks. He wanted me to pretend to be his girlfriend. I thought that it sounded like a few movies that I'd seen.

He said that he'd sign a contract saying that either he'd hire me as his secretary or pay me five thousand dollars for my time that weekend. He said that I'd only have to pretend to be his girlfriend. He promised never to touch me other than to hold my hand sometimes in front of his father and to sleep on the floor so that I could have the bed to myself.

I was desperate. I needed a job, and five thousand dollars, even if he didn't hire me, sounded very good too, especially just for three or four days of my time.

So I said "yes."

Mr. Williams bought me beautiful clothes and said that I could keep them afterward. We flew to Colorado. His father is rich and has a ski "chalet" in Aspen. I'd never flown first class before. They served me champagne --- which I'd never had before --- on the plane, even though I'm just eighteen years old and so am not drinking age. A fabulously fancy limo picked us up at the airport.

I was having such a great time. Mr. Williams is handsome and kind too. I was thinking that maybe he'd want me as his girlfriend for real when we got home, even though I knew that my parents wouldn't let me date a non-Chinese or have a boyfriend until I was ready to get married after college.

Mr. Williams' father was kind to me at first. He is handsome too. He has salt and pepper hair and looks strong and vigorous. He runs and skis cross country as well as downhill. Mr. Williams said that his father was a champion skier when he was in college. He has a dance room in his chalet, built for his late wife. I saw him in there practicing Kendo, a Japanese sport were they use wooden swords and were shoulder pads and a metal mask. He looked so manly and dangerous.

I could tell right away that Mr. Williams was afraid of his father. That made me stop my silly fantasies about us dating when we got back home.

Mr. Williams father insisted that I call him "Ben." I'd been calling his son "John" when we were around his father.

"Ben" encouraged me to drink more than I should have. I'd never drank before the flight and I discovered that I liked champagne and felt so elegant drinking out of those beautiful stemware glasses too. Mr. Williams' father said that those glasses were based on guillotined French queen Marie Antoinette's breasts!

I got a little "tipsy," as my mom would say, and then Mr. Williams father turned mean. He asked how long I'd known his son, how we had met, where we'd gone on our first date. I made stuff up. We had practiced a story, but I couldn't remember all of it. But Mr. Williams was right there, so he could just match his story to mine.

He started slowly, as if we were just talking, but soon he was questioning me as if I were a witness in court. He's a lawyer too, just like Mr. Williams, only he has argued before the US Supreme Court several times.

We were in his living room. It has a big couch. He had asked me to sit next to him and his son was sitting in a big leather chair next to the fireplace.

He asked to me, "You're not really my son's girlfriend, are you?"

I giggled and said, "Of course I am. Why would we lie?" I'm sure that I blushed scarlet. My mom says that I'm a terrible liar.

"Because my son is a sodomite, a craven little faggot, and he doesn't even the balls to tell the truth about himself and his disgusting lifestyle." He said that last word in phoney voice, sort of girlish or something high and unnatural.

Mr. Williams said, "Father, stop it. It's not true."

"And if your story is true, I suppose that you can answer me a few questions about this beautiful teenage girl that you brought as your beard, this whore that you found and rented?"

I'd never heard the word "beard" used in that way before. I didn't know what he had said, actually. It was only later that I found out that a "beard" is a woman who pretends to be a gay man's girlfriend or wife to fool people into thinking that he is heterosexual.

"Yes, of course, father. And please, don't call her names like that."

"I'll call her any goddamn thing that I want."

I was wearing a beautiful black silk dress that Mr. Williams had bought me, one that he had had specially fitted for me, one that I felt so beautiful in. Mr. Williams' father took hold of my knee and roughly pulled me so that I was facing him and pushed the hem of the dress up and over my knee and my thighs and uncovered my matching black silk panties.

I cried out and begged him to stop. I tried to push him away, but he was much too strong. I started to cry.

Suddenly he had something in his hand. A knife blade sprang out of it. He reached out and pulled the crotch of my panties out and slipped the knife blade under it and cut my panties completely across the crotch, exposing pubic hair and my vulva.

I was turned so that Mr. Williams couldn't see my crotch, but I was completely exposed to his father. No man had ever seen me down there or touched me there before. None had ever even seen my panties while I wore them.

I was still crying and begging him to stop, but he ignored me.

Mr. Williams just sat there, frozen in place.

"Hardwood or carpeted?" Mr. Williams father asked, looking at his son.

"What?"

"Does this little whore shave her pussy?"

Mr. Williams hesitated a moment and said, "No."

"Not even part of it?"

"No, not at all."

He knew that I was a good girl, from a good Chinese-American family, and he would know that only whores and slutty girls shave like that.

His father laughed and said, "Good guess, son."

He then reached up with his knife toward my breasts and cut the strap over my shoulder that held the top of my evening dress over my breasts and yanked it down, uncovering my breasts. Other than at night in my bed, I was not wearing a bra for the first time since I began to first get mosquito bites. A bra would have spoiled the way the top of the low-cut dress hung over my B-cup breasts and the straps would've shown.

I couldn't help it, I so petty minded. I remembered that the dress had cost Mr. Williams over a thousand dollars and that it was supposed to be mine once we went home. I stupidly wondered if it could be mended.

"What color are her nipples and what size are they?"

"Father, stop it. She is an innocent girl, not a whore."

"What color, son? Milk chocolate? Dark chocolate? Amber? Pinkish? Can you see veins around the nipples? The size of quarters or the bigger? Come on son, the sooner you answer, the sooner this will end."

Mr. Williams began to cry. His attempts to end my torment had won me over to him again, but his tears made me despise him.

His father reached out and pinched my left nipple and rolled it between his index finger and thumb.

"Come on, son, talk to me."

"Dark chocolate. A little bigger than quarters," he guessed.

I hated him all the more because he was still pretending, still playing his father's sick game, still wanting desperately to convince his father that I was his girlfriend.

His father laughed and then his other hand was between my legs, stroking my clit, rolling it around and around with the tip of his finger. It felt so good!

"Milk chocolate and barely that, son, and only a little bigger than nickels."

I knew that my nipples were dark chocolate colored and about quarter-sized. Mr. Williams had guessed correctly again, but his father was setting a trap for him.

His father jammed his finger into my pussy and I cried out. I was a virgin.

"You've fucked this innocent girl, son?"

"We've made love, father, yes."

"How often?"

"None of your business."

He jammed three fingers into me hard and broke my hymen. I screamed and began to sob. I had wanted and had always thought that I'd stay a virgin until I married, but now that was gone, gone forever.

Mr. Williams' father held up his hand, his three fingers extended like a Boy Scout sign, all red and wet with my blood. He asked, triumphantly, "And how do you explain this, son?"

Mr. Williams got up and ran from the room.

His father laughed.

"I'm sorry, dear. I truly thought that you were some whore whom he hired."

I was still crying, sobbing.

He got up and laughed and said, "But now that you've paid the piper, you're gonna have to pay in full."

He took off his smoking jacket and unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants.

I knew what he was going to do, but part of me didn't care. I was no longer a virgin, so whatever happened after that didn't matter to me right then.

He pulled down his pants and his white boxers and knelt on the couch next to me. I turned my ead away and closed my eyes. I didn't want to see his penis. He pulled my legs open and got between them.

I felt like a coward, like a condemned man with a bag over his head, with my eyes closed, so I opened them and looked it him with all the hate that I could muster.

He laughed and put my ankles on his shoulders and leaned toward me and drove his penis into me as hard as he could.

I screamed.

He started fucking me, fucked me hard and deep, while I cried and sobbed.

He began to moan. "Sweetie, you feel so good, so tight, so heavenly warm and tight."

He kept fucking me hard. He was on top of me, bending my legs back toward my head and I was afraid that he'd dislocate one or both of my femurs from my hips.

"Are you on the Pill or something?"

"No, please, please, don't!" I didn't want to get pregnant on top of everything else.

He reached down and lifted my hips and butt with his big strong hard hands and pulled his penis out of me and then drove it, wet and slippery with my own virgin blood, into my butthole.

I cried out again and begged him to stop. It hurt. It burned.

But he kept fucking me in the butt as hard as he could. He was bending my hips, butt and spine up toward him too, and that hurt too. Then he took a throw pill off the back of the couch and put it under the small of my back and pulled my butt further up and toward his thrusting penis.

His face was right over mine, inches from mine. His breath strongly smelled of cigar smoke and onion and just a little bit of something else, something strange, perhaps an alcohol drink that I didn't know. His hands found their way to my breasts, and he started to roughly pull at my nipples and to twist them painfully.

He's strong and handsome, but he was older than my father, probably closer to my grandfather's age. I noticed that all the hairs in his nose were gray, almost white. His eyes were so blue.

Then one of his hands was on my vulva. He stroked my clit with his thumb or his finger and a jolt radiated through me from there. He stroked it again and I cried out, not in pain but in pleasure. My nipples started to tingle and my rectum, where he was thrusting his big hard penis, suddenly felt pleasantly warm instead of sore. Then the throbbing soreness came back, but it felt sweet, almost wonderful, rather than painful. Then the pain came back, but that felt weirdly good too. All the while my clit felt better and better.

He stroked it again. I couldn't help myself. I thrust myself up and toward him to meet his ramming penis in my butthole.

He kept at it and I met each of his thrusts, not even trying to stop myself, it felt so good. Suddenly I came, the strongest orgasm I'd ever had in my life. No boy or man, girl or woman had ever touched me, but ever since I'd been ten years old, I'd sprayed water on myself in the shower and cum from that, but this was incredible. I came again and then again and then again, and each orgasm was just as good as the first time. I couldn't help myself. I begged him not to stop.

He moaned and cried out and I knew that he was cumming in my rectum.

It was only later that I figured out that if I really don't want him to stop that I shouldn't beg him not to stop, figured out that asking him not to stop would excite him so much that he would cum instead of keep fucking my ass hard like I desperately wanted more than anything in the universe at that moment.

Then he lay on top of me, all his weight painfully on my hips and chest with his penis still inside my butt. He leaned down and kissed my mouth.

No man had ever kissed me that way before. My father and my uncles kissed my cheeks, my forehead, or the top of my head, but no one, not my mother or an aunt or a boy --- no one --- had ever even kissed me on the lips before.

His tongued, wet and warm and probing, pushed into my mouth.

I let him kiss me.

I could feel his wet warm penis shrink inside me and slip out of my butthole like a was taking a bowel movement. I giggled.

He helped me up and pulled my dress up and off me and then pulled down my ruined panties. I was naked for the first time in my life in the presence of a man. I don't even think that my father had ever seen me naked when I was a baby. Chinese girls and women are very body modest. I had never even shared a tub with my brothers.

He led me, naked, upstairs and into a bathroom with a large beautiful marble shower stall with shiny gold shower heads and handles. I didn't even worry that Mr. Williams would see me that way.

He quickly undressed. I'd never seen a naked man before. The last time I'd seen a penis had been when I had changed or bathed my youngest brother when he had been two years old.

He pushed me into the shower and followed. He turned the water on full blast on the two of us. It was cold and then too hot. I cried out, but he made no sound, not even sucking in his breath.

He began to gently wash me. The wonderful soap he was using smelled like roses and peaches and cloves.

"I'm so sorry, my dear. My son is a coward. I despise homosexuals, but I'd forgive him that, love him in spite of that. But I can't ever forgive him his lying cravenness. And to bring you into this . . ."

I began to cry again.

"What did he offer you?"

He was still washing me, his huge rough soapy hands so gentle on my skin.

I told him about my family's loss in the stock market and my need to get a job to pay for college.

"I won't admit it to anyone else, sweet girl, but I just raped you. I regret it. I'm an asshole sometimes. But what's done is done. Accuse me and I'll fight you with everything I have. You know that you can't count on my sissy son to testify on your behalf. Among other things, he longs with all his being to inherit my money."

He paused and then went on, "But let me make a phone a call and you will be admitted to" --- he named a well-known and highly renowned university --- "with a full five-year scholarship."

"I'd rather slit my wrists than take a payoff for what you did to me."

He laughed. "You've got spunk, girl. Come to work for me. You'll see the world and learn more in the first two years than you'd learn in five at Harvard or Oxford."

"And you'll fuck me whenever you want?"

"Yes."

I laughed. "Tempting, but I'd still think of it as a payoff."

He laughed. "Please me during the first five years and I'll marry you."

I laughed and said, "We'll see."

When we got out of the the bathroom, his son was gone, run off. He really is a coward.

I work for his father now, as his personal assistant. The pay is very good, of course, and I am learning a lot.

Every now and then I refuse to let him touch me. I don't want him to think that he's paying for that too. I also told him that I'll geld him in his sleep if he ever touches another woman.

Let me know what you think!

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