Breeding the Help Ch. 04

My Filipina loved riding my dick. She would lean back and put her hands behind her on my legs, or put one arm behind her on the bed, her free hand caressing her enormous, tight, taut belly as she bounced her hips and drove herself up and down on my cock. Sometimes she'd reach down and rub her clit with her free hand while fucking herself on me, and other times I'd rub it for her, making her gasp and buck and come hard on my dick, her furry pussy clamping and squeezing me like a vice. It was like her body wanted to become even more pregnant, if that was somehow possible at this point.

I wished it was just the two of us. My parents' presence, when they were around, was more suffocating than ever.

My mother, still smug from my Princeton matriculation, went from making snide and stinging comments about Maria's condition in the morning to passive-aggressive compliments and veiled looks of disgust.

"My, my, Maria. You've put on so much weight, haven't you?" she would say with a condescending, tight-lipped smile. "I'm surprised you can even move these days, let alone take care of the house."

Or "Aren't you just looking radiant today, Maria? Oh, it just gets harder from here! I just can't imagine the birth."

The comments didn't faze our maid, who just rolled her eyes or smiled sweetly in reply. My Filipina wife knew she'd be home soon, with me, and it gave her strength and confidence to endure and ignore my mother's petty bullying. Mother would look to me as if expecting support or validation, and when I'd stare her down or call her out on her cruelty, she'd bristle and give me this bitter, suspicious stare, but then move on.

We were less careful than before. It wasn't just that we were having sex several times a day, whenever we had the opportunity -- we were always around each other, enjoying each other's company, our closeness as this part of our lives came to an end. I needed to be near her like I needed water or air. My mother started taking notice. At first it was just distasteful glares, but then she started making these shitty offhand comments.

'Carl, you shouldn't be spending so much time with the help. It's unseemly.'

' 'You're getting a bit too close with the maid these days. You do remember she's pregnant, don't you?' '

' 'I'm getting tired of you carrying on with Maria. Why on earth you enjoy her company is well beyond me.' '

I either ignored Mother or gave her an angry glare. I had to hold myself back from snapping and saying something truly nasty. I don't know if she was jealous of Maria's fertility or the attention I gave her, or was just so batshit insane with paranoia, but she seemed to be watching us much more closely whenever she was around. Was she starting to suspect me instead of Dad? Or just thinking I was attracted to our pretty, pregnant housekeeper? I could feel the tension growing again, and this time it was directed at me.

Dad was getting worse, not better, with his apparent alcoholism. He was drinking so much that he was drunk more often than not, and his mood was erratic. Some days, he was quiet and brooding, and others he was overly jovial and talkative. I felt partly responsible for fucking up our family and guilty every time my parents fought, but I had to remember that Mom was the one who went after my father like a crazy person.

It was okay though. I'd be leaving Bangkok behind soon with Maria, and never see the old Sukhumvit villa with all its drama and suffocating secrets ever again.

****

My young life had gone through a lot of changes in the past year. I thought I'd settled into expat life and found some semblance of stability, but then something happened that just blew everything apart. It'd just turned July and we were a few days from getting on a plane to the Philippines. Maria and I were both starting to pack separately. It was a day like any other; I'd come back from using the fitness center in my workout clothes, ready for a shower. I heard the TV blaring with my mother's soaps and grazed past Maria in the hallway, stealing a kiss and a grope of her breast, a caress of her pregnant belly.

I grabbed a chilled water bottle from the fridge and headed for the stairs, slowing when I heard Mother's panicked voice on the phone from the living room.

"What? What does that mean? Yes, yes, I'm trying to --" I heard the channels change with a buzz of static and discordant sound before they settled on a news report given by a female anchor.

"...financial storm appears to be brewing in Asia that's sending shockwaves throughout the global markets. It began when Thailand's central bank decided to float the Thai baht due to lack of foreign currency to support its peg to the US dollar. Overnight, the value of the baht plummeted, leading to panic selling of the currency..."

I felt a terrible sense of dread as the TV drew me in to stand in the doorway and watch the screen. CNN International broadcast. My mother was hunched over, riveted at the edge of the couch in her blue satin bathrobe, hair perfectly coiffed, martini glass in one hand, the corded dial phone receiver in the other.

The TV showed frantic Thai stock market traders and people lined up outside of banks all over the country. Footage shifted to the streets of Bangkok, where there were visible signs of economic distress. Store closure signs, distraught shopkeepers, and general public unease.

"The implications are far-reaching," the anchor continued. "The rapid decline of the baht has sent panic throughout Southeast Asia, with many fearing that other countries in the region could be affected. Already, stock markets in Hong Kong, Malaysia, the Philippines, and Singapore are showing signs of turmoil."

"Oh my god..." Mother hissed, biting her French nails as the phone dropped from her hand onto the carpet.

"Investors around the world are on edge, concerned about the potential spillover effect. Experts are predicting that this could be the beginning of a larger financial crisis in Asia, with the potential to impact economies globally." There was damning footage of various stock market boards in red, traders shouting and phones ringing off the hook.

Maria came up next to me, taking my hand in hers, covering her mouth as her eyes widened with shock. I squeezed it reassuringly. Mother was as pale as death, her knuckles clenched.

"The world watches with bated breath, wondering how deep and widespread the effects of this crisis might become. We'll continue to provide updates as we receive more information..."

"Oh GOD, Carl! CARL! Call your father right now!" my mom wailed, her voice a racing cry. Maria slinked away, pulling her hand from mine. We shared a frantic, silent look before she disappeared into the laundry room to wisely make herself scarce.

I was scared. I didn't know what the fuck was going on. I always felt like Thailand was restless, like the hot passion of its people was a ticking time bomb, but now it had blown up in the worst way. Was there going to be civil unrest? I knew there'd been plenty of military coups here in the past.

"Carl, NOW!"

"Yes, mom," I said, pulling out my Nokia to call my father. "Come on, Dad, pick up," I pleaded under my breath. The phone rang and rang, but no one answered.

"Where is he?" Mother shouted. "He's not picking up at his office!"

"What's happening, Mom?" I pressed, my voice filled with alarm.

She was crying, sobbing, her face red and puffy. "What do you think is happening, stupid boy? Your father's entire net worth depends on the markets. This is a financial crisis! Everything's going to hell in this fucking shithole of a country! Do you understand that?"

"I'm not stupid, Mom!" I shot back. "So the markets are down. They'll come back, won't they?"

"Carl," she hissed, standing and pointing her finger at me, her eyes blazing, perfect mascara smeared. "Everything your father has is investments in stocks and real estate here."

I just stood there in disbelief.

"It's all based on the value of the baht!" Mother shrieked. "Don't you get it, Carlton??!" She threw her hands up, sobbing hysterically. "Our entire future, our life is tied to this shit, shit currency! If the markets fall, everything goes with them!"

She started ranting about the investments and their values. The Thai bonds, the stocks, real estate they'd bought around the city, in Phuket. Everything. Then she just collapsed onto her knees and wailed, the martini tumbling to spill from her nerveless fingers. I was angry at Mother and hated what she'd become, but seeing her so broken and pathetic, I just went down to the floor and pulled my arms around her in a hug. I didn't know what else to do.

She sobbed into my arm, clutching and clawing onto me like she was drowning. She reeked of gin, the sharp smell of her perfume and hairspray incredibly unpleasant.

"Oh God, Carl...what are we going to do? What are we going to do?"

"I...I don't know, Mom," I admitted in a whisper, rubbing her back. She was shaking.

Eventually, Mother brushed me off of her and gave me a tearfully thankful, if slightly reproachful look. She went back to watching the news, transfixed as she began calling the Foundation mothers to commiserate, to organize, to try to find answers. I was at a loss. The baht was in freefall. The more mom had explained, the worse it sounded.

How many millions of dollars did my parents have in the local banks? Millions in investments? It was staggering. Did this mean I wasn't going to Princeton anymore? Was all the money I was giving Maria going to disappear? What would happen to her, to our kids? I felt tears well up as I sat on the bottom of the stairs, my face in my hands.

I'd...I'd figure something out. I'd work in the Mindanao rice fields for her. I'd collect fucking coconuts if I had to.

I found Maria in the kitchen.

"I scared, Carl," she said, hugging her sides. I held her close.

"It'll be okay, Maria," I whispered, feeling the wetness of her eyes. I pulled back and wiped her tears. "You trust me, right?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation. "I love you, Carl."

"I'll get us home," I assured her. "I'll keep you all safe, no matter what."

Later that afternoon, I heard the screech of car tires as my father drove his luxury sedan into the driveway, nearly crashing it into the side of the house. A few minutes later, the front door slammed open and he walked in, looking haggard. What hair he had left on his balding head was a mess and his face was a shell-shocked mask of desperation.

"Hey Champ," he said tersely, breezing past me. He was dressed in a white dress shirt, collar unbuttoned and tie loosened, black pants and loafers. "Ruth!" he called out. "RUTH!"

"Where have you been, Donald?" Mother cried from the living room. "Have you been listening to the news? Tell me we can do something. Tell me!"

I edged closer to the doorway and watched in secret. My father shook his head and suddenly burst into tears. Seeing my dad, a grown man, cry like that made my heart sink deep into my chest.

Dad looked crushed, his face contorted and eyes reddening. Despite all their animosity and mistrust, Mother ran up and threw her arms around him, and they embraced.

"It's all gone, Ruth," he wept, holding her tight.

"What are we going to do?" Mother whimpered. "Oh fuck, Donald..."

I recoiled from the door and ran up to my room. I felt like a little kid again, despite everything, sitting on my bed and hiding with my Walkman around my ears, drowning out the terror all around me.

My mother and father went into a flurry of activity that day. Given an awful, existential threat, they pulled together to try to find solutions. Dad was making a series of frantic calls on the landline, talking loudly and pacing, trying to save whatever he could. Mom was on her cell phone, screaming at our people to cash out and liquidate anything left. Neither of them had spoken to me directly since the morning, but that was fine; I just wanted to stay out of their way.

When the evening rolled around, Maria had made us some delicious smelling phad Thai, khao soi, and steamed barramundi on banana leaf for dinner. When I went to check on my parents and call them to take a break and come eat, I found both of them asleep from exhaustion on the couch, holding each other, papers, binders, and vital documents strewn about the coffee table in front of them. The TV had the CNN International newscast playing on mute while my father had a collection of 80s songs emanating quietly from the fancy sound system. His favorite since we moved to Thailand was currently filling the silence of the room.

'...One night in Bangkok and the world's your oyster

The bars are temples, but the pearls ain't free

You'll find a god in every golden cloister

And if you're lucky, then the god's a she

I can feel an angel sliding up to me...'

My parents had always seemed so in control of their lives, of their destinies and mine. Now I saw that they were as powerless in the face of this thing. They didn't know what was going to happen any more than I did. It was really scary. I frowned as I stood there, taking pity on them both. At least this disaster looked like it was bringing them back together in a strange way.

'...One night in Bangkok makes the hard man humble

Not much between despair and ecstasy

One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble

Can't be too careful with your company

I can feel the devil walkin' next to me...'

Maria and I ate in silence in the kitchen, the only sounds being the scrapes of our chopsticks and the clink of porcelain bowls. She'd already eaten while preparing dinner, and it was mostly for me, although she did share the meal and take a few bites here and there. Maria looked a little sad, and I reached across the island to hold her hand. A worried frown creased her beautiful face. There wasn't anything to say though.

Exhausted ourselves from a day of worry, we cleaned up and I helped Maria get ready for bed. My parents woke and barely ate, working well into the night. After they finally went to bed, I came to see Maria and we made love gently to comfort each other. I held her naked frame close as we spooned, our bodies beaded with sweat, my hand caressing her gravid swell. I lost myself with the soft warmth of her flesh, the wonderful smell of her skin and long raven hair, the gentle motions of our children under my palm, and her rhythmic, feminine breathing. I hated to creep back into my room, to leave her at the crack of dawn, but we weren't free yet.

Over the coming days, the economy went from bad to worse. The baht had completely collapsed. People were out protesting in the streets. I just tried to keep Maria calm and let her know she was loved. For some reason, I felt like the stress might make her go into fucking labor or something. The media was filled with dire warnings and speculation; it was the only thing Bangkok expats were talking about. Most of my friends had already left the country, but those lost souls that remained like me were either being sheltered from the truth or freaking out themselves.

It was all so surreal, like we were all living in a bad dream. My mother and father were still trying to save the family's wealth -- Dad's contracts had evaporated almost overnight, leaving him without a job. I'd heard mention of prospects in Shanghai and Beijing, with China still being relatively stable and firms offering lucrative posts for people like him.

With two days until the flight, Mother was increasingly erratic. She'd go into a panic at each new development in what the world was starting to call the Asian Financial Crisis. It all came to a head when I went upstairs after breakfast and cartoons to find my mom rifling through my room. She was in some pastel Chanel loungewear and slippers, her hair pulled back into a severe bun, eyes wild, motions frenzied.

"What the hell, Mom!" I shouted at the blatant invasion of my privacy. She was dumping my backpack out onto the floor and looking at the clothes strewn about the bed.

"Your passport, Carl," she snapped in a condescending bark. "We need it in case we have to evacuate! Where the fuck did you put it in this pigsty of a room?" Her voice rose to a near shriek.

I just stood there, dumbstruck at how crazy things were getting. Before I could stop her, she was pulling out my bed and checking behind it when her whole body froze. Mother hunched over the corner of the frame and used a fallen pencil to fish something out with a gasp.

It was one of Maria's black maternity panties, encrusted with both our dried cum.

Mother's face blanched, mouth working with revulsion and horror as she stared at the incriminating piece of clothing like it were a dead animal. "Oh god, this is disgusting! Carl, did you have a girl here??"

I was terrified, frozen with panic. My heart pounded in my ears. I couldn't find words to speak. It must have happened weeks ago; I didn't even remember. We must have gone naked into the shower after and fucked again somewhere else...of all the careless fucking ways to finally get caught, this? SHIT!

As my mom scrutinized the offending piece of fabric, her brow furrowed, eyes narrowing. Like a car crash in slow motion, I could see her putting the pieces together and I was powerless to stop it. Her jaw worked silently. I knew that expression. It was like a mother cobra, coiled tense and ready to strike.

"...these are Maria's, aren't they."

Of course she hadn't seen it earlier. Wouldn't have ever seen it if it wasn't for this. Mother was so consumed by the idea of a perfect family and a perfect son that if she'd actually paid attention to the real me instead of an idealized work in progress she'd have seen it right in front of her eyes from the start. Mother's nostrils flared as she got a good stale whiff of Maria's cunt and my cum. She reared back in disgust, throwing the panties on the ground and wiping her hands on the bedspread.

"Jesus Christ, Carl!" she snarled, baring her teeth.

"I...I..." I stammered, not knowing what to say, my mouth opening and closing uselessly.

"Did you...oh gooooddddd..." she suddenly moaned, her voice dropping an octave as the shame and outrage dawned on her. She clutched her chest and reeled like she was struck by a physical blow.

"With her...the help...?"

Then her eyes widened more and her voice dropped to a hiss of a whisper as her mind spun and lashed out in horror at the next frantic, audacious leap of logic.

"

Are her children...? Nhh...NO! No nono...ooh nooo!"

She stood up and faced me, her hands shaking as she balled them into fists. The shock and betrayal in her bale, awful glare was unbearable. She searched my eyes, my face, but she could see the truth without me even speaking a lie.

She knew.

It looked like Mother was going to scream and cry and wail and throttle the life out of me, but instead, she squared her jaw and just slapped me across the face as hard as she could. Her eyes closed as she breathed heavily through her nose, trembling. I put a hand to my face, my skin stinging, eyes burning with humiliation. Mother steeled herself, but she still stared at me like she wanted to kill me.

"No. No, no no...I don't believe it," Mother said firmly, though her voice shook. But I knew what she really meant was 'I won't believe it.'

Her eyes bored into me as they flew open, filled with rage and hate and pain and mortification. Her jaw worked as her fingernails dug into her palms. She started pacing, that porcelain mask cracking as self-preserving denial flooded in. "This never happened. Never...Never happened...you're just a sick little boy who stole her underwear. That's all..."

She went to the door, then stopped, stiffening as her hand turned the knob. She nodded, as if her sense of equilibrium was slowly being restored.