Paying the Price

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 story was written for her. I hope you like it, too.

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 Exhibit "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 man 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 pig 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 thick 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 picture 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 girl 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 panties 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 man 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 girl 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 tweaked 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 girl 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 man 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 girl 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 sucked 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 dueling 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 man *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. Curiosity finally won. "What do you mean?"

"It's my turn now. Do you remember the old _Terry and the Pirates_ comic strip?"

"Vaguely."

"Just call me *Dragon Lady*"

I never knew that a beautiful, naked woman could look so sinister.