The Bamboo Ceiling Ch. 13

Lucy crawled over to me and placed her hand on my member. Even against her thin, delicate fingers, I looked pathetic and small. She rubbed it in a circular motion with her thumb and index finger. It twitched impotently, but otherwise gave no response. Lucy could no longer stifle her laughter.

I tried to shift my hips to get away from Lucy's cruel prodding. She planted her other hand on my navel, pinning me to the bed. I wiggled futilely but could not free myself. It dawned on me just how far my muscle mass had atrophied; this slender woman was able to pin me down with just one hand. I was effortlessly overpowered by a woman who appeared to be barely 100 lbs.

"Oh, come on now," Beatrice rolled her eyes at Lucy's discontent, "It's fine. The bitch isn't completely useless."

Beatrice pulled up her dress, sat on her ass, then slid her panties down her legs. She then got back up onto her knees, moved over to my head, and straddled my face.

"Even if your little cock isn't useful for Mommy, we can at least put that tongue to work."

I looked upward as Beatrice slowly lowered herself onto my face. I could smell her freshly cleaned lips and her flesh pressed into me: first into my nose, and then into the rest of my face. She leaned forward, allowing me to breathe through my mouth as my lips met her pussy.

This was the first time I'd done this. It wasn't lost on me that the first time I'd eaten a woman out was (1) with a pansexual woman who leaned lesbian, and (2) right after her and her lesbian lover had elaborated on just how small my cock was. I was simply not useful to women as a man. And to these women, I was barely useful even as a sissy. At best, to this blonde goddess, I was an overpriced Sybian.

"There it is," Beatrice cooed as she rocked back and forth, "Don't be shy with that tongue, Baby."

I pressed my tongue against her clit. I had zero experience being face-ridden and no idea how to eat a woman out, so I imitated the way that James had rimmed me. I started by moving my big, soft tongue in circles around her clit.

Further, and much to my chagrin, I relied upon the stories that James had told me about how he'd eaten out my older sister. I remembered the way in which James had, in detail, explained to me the cunnilingus that brought her to multiple, earth-shattering orgasms. My face flushed as I thought about the details James shared about eating her pussy, and how I was doing my best to imitate what James had described.

"You don't just dive in," James had told me, "When I'm about to fuck Ari, I kiss every inch of her legs up and down, then slowly move to that tight little cunt. But I don't go right for the clit. You start by moving in slow circles just around it, stimulating that organ gradually. Never rush in; the bitch waits for you, not the other way around."

I hated that I was explicitly thinking of what James did to my sister as I slowly moved my tongue around this woman's clitoris. She soon started rocking her hips, periodically covering my nose and therefore my access to oxygen. I didn't know whether to infer from this that she was enjoying my work or whether she wasn't getting what she wanted.

Suddenly, I felt a palm slam against my forehead.

"Stop," Beatrice commanded, "We're done. Get the fuck out."

Beatrice unsaddled my face, and sat on the bed, looking at me coldly. Lucy covered her mouth, holding back more laughter. I looked back and forth between the two women with my eyes widened in horror. I opened my mouth to speak but could think of nothing to say.

"Before you go," Beatrice spoke matter-of-factly, as if she were a lawyer deposing a witness, "I need to know whether you've done this before. I don't really care why you're so fucking bad at it. I just need to know for my conversation with Frieda when I demand a refund. Your dick is useless, and you don't even know where to put your tongue. Do you do anything that resembles 'topping'? Or do you typically just lay there while a man just blows his load inside of you?"

I continued to look between the two women. Beatrice continued to stare at me with a cold, businesslike expression. Lucy looked as if it was taking all she had not to keel over from her laughter. I tried to speak, but—between my shame at my failure and my fear of repercussions from Frieda—my brain couldn't think of any words to form between my lips. How could I be such a failure at making a woman happy in any possible way? How could that kind of thing come so naturally to James, but be completely lost to me?

"You know what," Beatrice held up her hand toward me, "I don't care. Maybe your talents are in sucking cocks. Or perhaps you're good for literally fucking nothing but passively bending over while a man uses you like a breathing Real Doll. I don't fucking care. But please, for the sake of any woman who ever tries anything with you again, don't fucking bother. You'll just disappoint her. Now get out."

Beatrice moved her hand toward the door and pointed at it. She would say no more.

I stood with tears streaming from my face and pattered toward the door. I didn't want to look at Beatrice's frigid disappointment or Lucy's sadistic glee any longer. Nor did I want to consider that both women's reactions were correct. I was useless to women, even as a woman. I was a disappointment. Every word that Beatrice said was correct: I was skilled (1) at sucking cocks, and (2) at passively being fucked by a man.

I used to be a professional. I used to be the most technically competent banker at a respected firm. But none of that mattered; an undercompetent white man had been promoted over me, before he sexually conquered me and reduced me to the shell of a human. To a walking fuck doll. To a maid. To a sissy.

I wiped my tears with my wrists as I aimlessly wandered down the hallway. I knew that trying to run away would be futile. Between the collar around my neck, my lack of understanding of the local language, and the powerful forces that would hunt me down, there was nowhere to go but back to James. Going back to the white man who owned me was the only correct path forward. This was the only place that I belonged. I just didn't know how to find him.

"Hey," a drunk voice called out from behind me, "I remember you."

I spun around to see a familiar face. It wasn't James.

"F-Frank," I stuttered in an anxious, singsong voice, "I-it's good to see you! I'll have to tell James that we ran into each other."

Why was Frank wandering the halls drunk? He was ostensibly the owner of this establishment. Did he regularly leave its management to Frieda while he drank and fucked his own product? The hungry look he gave me as he sauntered toward me answered my question.

"Nah," Frank shook his fat, smug face, "No need. I'll take you to him after we're finished here."

I gulped at that last sentence. As soon as he was at arm's length, Frank reached out his hairy arm and grabbed me by my wrist. I could smell the cheap liquor on his breath as he pulled me against his body.

"If you're wandering out here, then you aren't doing your job. You girls shouldn't be wandering around like that."

I tried to step back, but Frank's powerful hold on my wrist held me in place.

Frank continued. "There's an empty room just down the hall. What say we go over and . . ." Frank hesitated, looking for the right word, "Remedy this situation?"

Apparently, in Frank's mind, an Asian boy's job is being fucked by a white man. As Frank slapped my ass and pushed me forward along the hallway, I wondered whether I truly disagreed with him. Given the totality of my life's experience, up to and including this night, I didn't.

I bowed my head and looked up at Frank with those pleading doe eyes that white men love so much. I pouted my lips and moved my body against his, inhaling his cheap cologne. I could feel the power behind his bloated, oafish body, and I could almost feel the force with which he would soon be fucking me.

"Yes, Sir."

**TO BE CONTINUED**