The Bamboo Ceiling Ch. 07

As always, this story contains graphic content and potential trauma cues for sensitive readers. Having a private raceplay kink does not mean that you condone racism or racial stereotypes. Having a sissy kink does not mean that you condone sexist or transphobic archetypes. Having a non-con kink does not mean that you condone abuse or nonconsensual sexual conduct. This is purely a work of fiction, by and for consenting adults.

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Chapter 7: My Sister, Claimed

As James fastened his cufflinks, he gazed into his floor-length, closet mirror. He nodded and grinned his cocky, shit-eating smile as he smoothed out his expensive suit. His shoes, a deep merlot color, matched his shiny button down. Both contrasted handsomely against his rich black pants and jacket. James looked like a million bucks. And as a tall, handsome white guy, he was 100% my sister's type.

The knowledge that James would likely fuck my sister within the next few hours was almost as humiliating as the fact that I was presently on my knees polishing his shoes. My efforts were successful; I could see my reflection in their rich, waxy surface. That is, I could see a dolled up, whipped, broken housemaid. James's conquered little Asian sissy. By contrast to James's rich appearance, I sported a sheer, blue, babydoll nightie with matching thong panties. And no shoes.

"That's good enough, Kimmy," James patted me away, "I don't want to keep your sister waiting."

"Yes, Sir." I meekly crawled away and respectfully knelt by the closet door.

"Keep your phone handy," James ordered as he walked toward the door, "if things get interesting, I'm going to call your cell with my smartwatch. When I ask your sister if she wants to come over, I want you to hear the enthusiasm in her voice."

James tilted his head back as he gave a cocky, barking laugh. "Also, keep an eye on your phone. I'm going to share remotely my location with you. Ari doesn't know that you're my little live-in house bitch, so I don't want you to be seen when I bring her home. But when we get here, I expect a glass of white wine to be chilling in a bowl of ice on the table. And I expect two chilled glasses to be next to it. Maybe grab some flowers out of the garden--just make it look romantic. Got it, Bitch?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl," James stopped next to me so that his bulge was right next to his face, "I want you to be thinking about this going inside your sister in a few hours. Most Asian girls I fuck haven't had anything like the size that I have to offer, so you'll likely be able to hear her from your room."

With that, James stepped out the door toward the car. I just stayed there, still kneeling by the foyer closet, staring off into space like an idiot. I couldn't believe what was happening. I was trapped in James's house, a high-tech shock collar around my neck, surveillance software on my phone, my dick locked in a chastity cage, makeup on my face, and lingerie barely covering my body. And the man who did this to me was about to take my sister out to dinner.

How could I let things slide this far? How could I, a top-tier college grad with amazing grades and top-tier employment prospects, allow myself to be so conquered by someone like James? Was it something about me? Are overqualified Asian men like me doomed to take subservient roles to underqualified white men like James?

I shifted myself so that I was sitting on the carpet. The house was, thanks to my efforts the day before, immaculately clean. I had no other chores before James and Ari were on their way. I had no work to do. I hadn't been given permission to leave the house. There was nothing to do. My cock was locked up and only James could unlock it with the Master App on his phone, so I couldn't masturbate.

Although couldn't I?

Much to my chagrin, I've had numerous orgasms while James plowed me from behind. James loved to rub these "accidents" in my face, both literally and metaphorically. After my first little "accident," James was furious that I'd sullied his bedsheet with my "pathetic little dribble" (his words). He'd grabbed me by the drape of my neck and shoved my face into my little mess.

"I sympathize with how much you little sissies love being dominated by a real man," James had whispered in my ear while smearing my face into my own cum, "but you cum when I tell you to cum, you little bitch."

"Yfff Ffrr!" was all that I could manage with my face buried in James's cum-soaked sheets.

My cock strained against its cage at the memory. My mind returning to the present, I buried my face in my hands. I was overwhelmed by shame. With my bare ass still sitting on the carpet, I started to shift my weight back and forth, enjoying the sensation of the ground against my exposed ass.

Shamefully, I dragged myself upward and to my bedroom. I shuffled to my sock drawer, from which I retrieved my eight-inch dildo. It was clearly modeled after a Caucasian man's cock--the faux veins were complimented by the red hew as the base narrowed toward the tip. My breath catching in my throat, I set the base on my bedroom floor, shifted my thong panties to one side, and lowered myself onto my stiff little companion.

After about thirty minutes of debasing myself, I was interrupted by the sound of a vibration on my phone. James had already texted me.

"Hey Bitch," the text read, "your sister is surprisingly enthusiastic about coming home with me, so we left after a couple of drinks and we're driving home now. Put the wine out and order some food. Doesn't matter what."

I quickly replied, "Yes, Sir. Understood."

The response came a few minutes later, "Good Girl."

Leave it to James to text me about fucking my sister while he was driving with her in the car. The layers of disrespect weighed on my mind as I put my toy away and descended the steps toward the kitchen. As ordered, I pulled two chilled glasses from out of the freezer, filled a small metal bucket with ice along with a bottle of chardonnay. After ordering some pizzas, I scurried back up to my room. I didn't want any risk of Ari seeing me like this.

A few short minutes later, I heard the front door open, followed by some giggling.

"Oh my god, James! This place is beautiful! Your house is so big!" My sister's voice echoed up the stairs. She slurred her words as if she was drunk, but I knew it to be an act. Acting drunk after a date with a white guy was one of her 'I'm getting laid tonight' tricks. And that the tactic so successfully aroused her white male dates incensed me. Why were these fuckers so turned on by someone being so vulnerable?

"Well," James said, "I'm very fortunate. This place cost a fortune as close as it is to downtown. And the value just keeps rising."

"Oh, I bet," I imagined her placing her hand on his chest, getting close to him, and looking directly up at him, as I've seen her do with white guys. "You were so fucking smart to buy this place. And you keep it so clean! I've never seen a single guy's house this clean and well decorated."

It stung that my sister was gushing over work that I had done. I was also struck by her language. Typically, my sister never cusses. She's the paragon of professionalism and politeness at work and when interacting with friends. But when she interacted with a hot white guy, something changed about her. She was dirty.

"Yeah," James responded slowly, "but it's no worries if we mess it up a bit."

I curled up on my bed in my room, listening through the walls. But I could practically see my sister sharply exhaling and biting her lip, bending her knee inward and bending forward subserviently at this man. I've seen her do it before, and now she was doing it for James. She was doing it for my tormentor. My boss. My bully. My master. My daddy.

No. I stopped that thought in its tracks. Was that jealousy that just arose in me? No. I was furious, right? I was angry that this white male bully was about to pork my sister. But what was that other feeling that arose in me?

Oh no. I was feeling jealous. Why was I feeling jealous? Was I jealous that James--that underqualified shitbag who stole my career and subjugated me in his home--was able to land girls with ease?

No. Much worse: I was jealous of my sister. I was jealous that Ari was about to be porked by James. That was usually my role. I was jealous that James was about to throw her onto a bed, crawl on top of her, angle his massive white cock inside of her, and thrust into her repeatedly until he exploded into her.

My dick strained against its chastity cage. James would certainly receive a notification on his Master App that I was feeling aroused. And he would certainly torment me over it.

An unusual sound from downstairs interrupted my thoughts. It started low and guttural, then rose into a guttural gagging sound. Really? They were still in the threshold downstairs, and she was on her knees sucking his cock?

My phone vibrated. I looked to see a text message from James, "hey there bitch, you getting horny waiting for me to fuck your sister? Or feeling jealous that it won't be you that gets Daddy's cum tonight?"

That James knew exactly what I was feeling--what I was ashamed of feeling--make my face turn a deep red and made me curl deeper into my covers. What's more, I was cognizant that he sent that while my sister was sucking his cock. That disrespectful asshole pulled his phone out, checked his notifications, and wrote a text message--all while my sister was on her knees gagging on his member. On a first date. Less than an hour into that first date.

I hated white men so much. I hated how much Asian women willingly debased themselves for white men. And I hated myself for how profoundly aroused I was. My little dicklet strained weekly against its cage.

The noise from downstairs lasted for several minutes until I heard James sharply inhale. "Fuck, fuck, yeah that's good girl. I'm gonna cum. And don't fucking spit it out. Oh, oh, oh yeah, bitch! Fuck. Now open your mouth and let me see it. Good girl. Now swallow and open your mouth again to show me that you got it all. Oh yeah, that's Daddy's good girl. There's wine chilling in dining room; why don't you go pour us a couple of glasses?"

Seriously? He just face-fucked her an hour into a first date, ordered her to swallow his cum (and prove that she got it all), and then ordered her into the kitchen to bring him some wine. And I could tell from the sound high heels tapping across the floor that Ari had obeyed him. It was normal for the white men that my sister dated to wear the pants in the relationship--she gushed over them, cooked for them, did laundry, and cleaned for them, all while tolerating their mistreatment. But I had never seen her submit so fully so early into a relationship.

After they went to the dining room, I could no longer hear them. Happily, when the food arrived, James didn't make me go downstairs to retrieve it or serve it to him and Ari. They just ate and chatted for thirty minutes while I stirred in my bed.

Eventually, I heard heavy footsteps up the stairs along with my sister's giggles. Based on the sound, I imagined that James was carrying her up the stairs. He had a thing for carrying the women through the door and into the bedroom before he fucked them. And that I only heard one set of footfalls supported my assumption. I was reminded of that ridiculous poem about footprints on a beach that my church-going mother hung on our kitchen wall.

The footsteps were followed by a squeal as James threw Ari onto the bed. James's room was a short walk down the hall from mine, and I could tell from the volume that James didn't bother to shut his bedroom door. He wanted me to hear this.

The bed creaked as James got up and on top of Ari. I heard muffled moans as they made out on his bed. Then more creaking as she shifted her body. Then faster, methodical creaking. James was apparently not in the mood for foreplay.

My sister moaned and squealed as James fucked her. "Fuck, oh fuck James, oh fuck."

Listening intently, I shifted onto back and spread my legs. The discomfort in my groin was growing as I struggled against my cage. I imagined James putting her on her back, looking her in the eye while he fucked her. When James fucks a girl, he typically keeps his right hand on her navel, then uses his thumb to apply pressure to and rub her clitoris. He is good at what he does.

By contrast, when James fucks me, both of his hands are on my hips or shoulders. James cares about the pleasure of the women he fucks. I'm just a warm fuckdoll who can't say no.

The pace of the creaking increased. Ari's squeals escalated into a shrill screech. "Fuuuuuuck; oooooooh."

She was whining like a bitch while James mounted her. Meanwhile, down the hall and in my room, I spread my legs and probed my own asshole with my fingers. I hated myself for how turned on I was.

"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, fuck, fuck, fuuuck," Ari squealed with pleasure from the other room. James didn't slow down.

At the same time, I was inserting my middle finger fully in and out of my anus. I had often had a 'sissygasm' as James fucked me--this was the only way I came these days. And I was desperate from relief right now. I hated myself for how jealous I was that Ari was being jackhammered in the next room instead of me. I hated myself that I wished I was the one being disrespected and slapped around by James. I hated myself that I felt jealous that somebody else was about to take James's load. I hated myself for how far I'd fallen.

The banging sound in the next room continued for several minutes while Ari screamed James's name. And I listened while fingering my asshole a slut and fantasizing about James's powerful, dominant cock. James could last for a long time. Combined with the sheer size of his member, it was common for me to walk with a limp the morning after James took me. I wondered if Ari would be wobbly on her feet the next day.

I imagined James fucking me and playing with my little dick like he would a woman's clit. I wished that James would do that.

Eventually, I heard James increase the pace and volume of his breath. "Oh yeah," he breathed, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes!"

Ari mirrored his enthusiasm. "Oh fuck, Daddy, cum in me please!" While I believed her enthusiasm, I knew that was just trying to sound like one of those porn actresses. She clearly wanted this to be a repeated affair.

James exhaled sharply as he filled Ari up. I exhaled sharply while will my dicklet leaked through its cage.

I heard soft moaning as they made out for a while longer. I turned on my side and fell asleep in a fetal position. I didn't know how late James and Ari stayed up. Or how many more times James fucked her that night.

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The next morning, I slowly opened my door and looked down the hallway. I could see James in his bed, fast asleep, laying on his back. Ari was curled up on top of him with one leg between his and her face resting on his chest. Both looked exhausted and completely out.

Which was fortunate because I was still sporting that blue babydoll nighty with matching thong panties. As low as I had already fallen, I would die if Ari ever saw me like this. I crept out into the hallway and down the stairs. I didn't want to leave my room, but James would punish me if his coffee wasn't prepared by the time he woke up. And I had no reason to think that James would not do so in front of Ari.

I covered the coffee grinder with a towel as it buzzed to muffle the noise. I was desperate to be as quiet as possible. After I dumped the beans into the French press and poured in the hot water, I heard quiet footsteps in the dining room behind me.

My heart raced. This was much worse than James's heavy footfall--Ari must have woken up and come downstairs. As I heard her cross the dining room, but before I heard her round the threshold into the kitchen, I lunged to my side into a small opening between the refrigerator and the cabinet.

We typically kept the broom and mop there, but I had lost a bit of weight since James 'claimed' me, and I was just able to squeeze myself into the dark space. I wished that I had found a better hiding spot as Ari entered the kitchen.

She was wearing nothing but an oversized black t-shirt. I assumed that she'd stolen it from James's dresser. James had a habit of tearing off his conquests' panties and throwing them into a corner of his bedroom. That they often left wearing one of his expensive shirts was more than a fair trade for the girls.

"Damn," Ari said to herself, "I was hoping to make him coffee, but he must have woken up before me then fallen asleep again."

I held my breath as I looked at her from the crevice. If Ari just turned her head to the right, she would see her little brother hiding in a crevice by the cupboard. And wearing naught but lingerie and a thong. And with his hair grown out. And with whorish makeup still on his face from the day before. Shit. This was not good.

Luckily, Ari didn't notice me there. She picked up the French press, retrieved two small cups from the wall shelf in front of her, and turned to her left to carry her prize back to James. Even if she couldn't make him coffee, she was certainly going to serve it to him. I hoped that James would enjoy my predicament enough not to punish me later.

I sighed in relief as I heard Ari's light footsteps ascend the stairs. As I wiped the sweat from my face, I was reminded of my blunder the night before of not removing my makeup. My wrist came away from my face covered in smeared foundation.

About an hour later, James showed Ari to the door. He was usually enough of a gentleman to call his one-night stands a rideshare, but not enough to actually drive them home. After a night with James, the girls didn't seem to mind.

"This was so fun," I heard Ari gush at the doorstep. "When can I see you again?"

"I'll be working late tonight," James blithely replied. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

I imagined that Ari was ecstatic that she could see him again so soon. "Um, nothing, hanging out with you I hope?"

"Let's do that," James was confident and presumptive in his reply, "in fact, I'm going to tell my firm that I need to inspect the hospital's LA branch in-person. And I need a competent head nurse to assist me in due diligence. I'll get us a hotel. Pack for about four days."

"Um," Ari seemed taken aback but enthusiastic, "that sounds great!"

"The firm has a private jet we use for this kind of thing. I'll see if it's available. If so, you won't have to worry about TSA or any of that."

"Oh my god," Ari was gushing again, "that is so cool!"

Being a tall, buff, conventionally attractive white guy wasn't enough. James had to play the wealth card as well. I hated him for all of his undeserved privilege.

"Great. I'll pick you up tomorrow morning. I'll tell the hospital to clear your schedule, so you don't have to worry about any of that. See you then."

I heard a loud smack--which I assumed to be the sound of James's hand against Ari's ass as she walked out the door--followed by the door closing.

James snapped his fingers. "Over here, bitch."

This was a common way for James to call me to him. I hurried to him, afraid of the punishment that would follow if I kept him waiting.

James snapped his fingers again and pointed at the ground. I immediately knelt at his feet and looked up at him, mouth agape, as he'd trained me. Specifically, as he trained me with the help of a shock collar and the occasional slap across the face.

James unzipped his pants and let his member flop out onto his pajama bottoms. "Smell this, bitch."

"Yes, Daddy," I replied as I hungrily dug my face into his leviathan. I could smell sweat, semen, and what I knew to be evidence of my own sister's enthusiasm as James had fucked her the night before.