Twice Ten Point Zero (10.0)

Barry agreed, and Missy said "I like lying here with you. It is very nice. I have been lying here dreaming for a long time tonight, while you slept. You are a very, very good teacher and the nicest man I have ever met. We cannot have much time together, because you must return to America soon. So, I want you to teach me everything. Everything, everything... every single thing you know or want to do. Teach me. Please? I promise to be a good pupil! I want to know."

Then, tentatively, "Does that make me a bad woman, to want to do all those things I have heard about, that are so forbidden?"

Barry thought for a second: he had scratched the cold surface and found a boiling spring just beneath it. It wasn't the first time he'd had that happen, just far and away the most spectacular. He said quietly, "Not a bad woman at all. A wonderful, sexy, adventuresome, talented woman. My kind of woman. Do you really mean it, learning everything?"

She wondered briefly what she was getting into: "everything" was awfully broad. Throughout her life she had been told repeatedly, and seldom in jest, "Never volunteer for anything, in any way!" Perhaps that was good advice? Did it apply here? She didn't think so!

She said "Yes. I trust you, and I want to learn. You are very experienced, and I am not. You said you like to make up fantasies about women... you even said you make fantasies about ME. That is very flattering, you know. Nobody ever told me that before! What do you think about when you do that? Are they real things you remember from other lovers, or are they new things you have not tried yet? We could try those things if you wish. I would like to learn to do what pleases you. EVERY thing that pleases you will please me, too! This I can already see. It is a wonderful thing to know!"

She was impressed with her own boldness, with the flow of her thoughts: all this was bubbling up and spilling out without her really willing it or considering it before she heard it herself.

Barry turned on the bed-lamp so they could see one another. He was for the first time thankful for China's low-wattage mania: the soft yellow glow was perfect. He stood up beside the bed, leaned over her, kissed her once, said "You are incredible! And I'm going to take you at your word. You are perfect for some of my fantasies, and you have been a major actor in them recently." He picked her up and placed her on her hands and knees. She didn't know what to expect, but complied readily when he tucked a pillow under her face and chest, lowered her onto it, spread her knees wide apart. Then he was behind her, and his tongue was doing its magic on her clit again, but this time from the rear. She gasped, nearly climaxing already. He had her reach back, spread her bottom wide open for him.

A very few hours earlier, she would have frozen in prudish horror at the very idea: now, it was just another instruction, although very interesting indeed. She did as he asked, feeling wanton and extremely vulnerable. Then there was the oddest feeling down there, of something hot-wet-soft-hard and ALIVE. She realized with a shock that it had to be his tongue-tip, and POP there it was, wriggling inside her bottom. Good god!

But it was awfully sensual, and if it felt good and was being done to her by this man, then it was by definition completely acceptable. How quickly she had changed her attitudes... in minutes, the utterly unimaginable became not only reality but desirable!

Then he was gone, murmuring "Don't go away!" Into the bathroom h went, and returned with a small plastic tube of slippery-stuff, the grease he used on his inner thighs to avoid chafing while running.

When Barry knelt behind her, she could feel again his radiating warmth. She wondered what he was going to do -- or better yet, what THEY were going to do together: he hadn't touched her with anything but his tongue.

Little mysterious noises, then a dab of coolness squarely on her anus. He reached beneath her with both hands, put one finger into gear on her clit, cupped a breast lovingly with his other hand, and launched her again. Through her glow, she felt the head of his cock pressing on her, sliding slowly and solidly up and down the entire length of the crack between her buttocks. It was interesting, sensual but diffused and low intensity.

Then the tip caught on the pucker of her bottom: diffused and low were the wrong adjectives now. She realized what was afoot, but instead of panicking, she composed herself with two rapid-fire thoughts, first that her Doctor Barry had promised not to do anything that could possible hurt her and he had performed exactly that way up to now, and second, that she had, in volunteering, really and truly meant it - she wanted to try whatever would please him. And that thought was overlain by the certainty that whatever pleased him was undoubtedly going to please her just as much.

Gently, carefully, with the patience of a saint and the power of a glacier, Barry pressed himself against her anus. Over many, many seconds, he felt her bottom-guardian muscles release and relax. She felt him entering, completely alien, completely evil, quite literally illegal, and utterly, breathtakingly wonderful. Forever after, she would date her sexual initiation and coming of age from that moment when she felt, so clearly and distinctly, his cock-head slide through her sphincter..... and loved the sensations. THAT was when she began, when she came into separate being.

There was some profound form of spontaneity, some release from inhibition, an important declaration of absolute personal independence from her past and even from her present, that went with the act. It had not been so when he first kissed her, or touched her with his fingers, or even when she had sat down upon him and taken him inside her so wonderfully.

And it was different, too, from what she had described to her relatives on the phone. No, it was this completely unique moment from which SHE had been formed, born, started.

She felt him sliding in, spreading and opening her body, and she flowed like liquid silver into a climax that went on for nearly five minutes, until she was drenched in sweat, until Barry was pounding into her hard and deep -- amazingly, her bottom had become utterly open, relaxed and infinitely receptive. She couldn't believe that the whole process was producing such wonderful sensations.

Then he came, the most intense, groaning, heart-rending sobbing she'd ever heard. At first it scared her, made her ask anxiously if he was okay. He managed a tight little laugh, told her that he was fine, just enjoying himself beyond anything he could have imagined -- which made his noises into a very sexy thing for her.

They slept soundly, cuddled together. Missy woke at four, lay there thinking hard. She hadn't the English word for it, but she was having an epiphany about transgressing rules and mores... the important and interesting thing was how nothing externally-visible had changed about her as a result of these adventures. There was no scarlet letter, no lightning bolts from Mao or the Central Committee, nothing except enjoyment and contentment and a profound desire to do it all again. And yet again!

It was an intricate phenomenon: the transgressions were monumental, or seemed so on their surface... not just the fucking, but the whole social complex from approaching a strange man for help (Foreigner! Government guest! Someone for whom she was a guardian and guide!), to making her bedroom offer, to breaking the guest/host barrier, to actual violation of specific laws.

It was for her the beginning of a long period of wondering "Why?" about many, many things. One thing was very clear to her, though... here, this moment, she was cocooned and protected from whatever was going on out there in the rest of the world. Four layers of protection: the hotel's isolating shell, the room itself, the sheet and blanket under which they curled, and last, most important, the strength and knowledge and caring of this man, her newfound partner - a partner for the moment perhaps, but a genuine partner!

She found that she didn't want to think beyond this very instant - she couldn't face the fact of his already-looming inevitable departure. For the moment, however long that moment could be made to last, she was happy! All this was uniquely comfortable and safe-feeling - she hoped it wasn't an illusion, that none of the layers were cracked somewhere that she couldn't see.

While she thought, Barry slept, one arm protectively about her. Finally, she stirred him awake by sliding down beneath the covers again. She had to leave soon, to get to the lobby when she was expected to be there, but she was curious, about her powers to re-arouse this man. Could she?

Tentatively she lowered her head and explored his sleep-softened cock with her tongue, then took the entire head into her mouth. A good fit. Interesting textures, quite different from when he was already hard, a nice feeling having him there when he was soft. But his cock expanded and grew so quickly! More power to her credit - she understood that the growth was HER DOING! In moments the soft, wrinkled thing had returned to its powerful state, big enough so that her mouth hadn't room for more than the head.

She looked up at Barry, released his cock and asked "What shall I do? Teach me, and tell me what pleases you! Remember our agreement!"

He got onto his knees, laid her on her belly before him, showed her how to cup his ball-sac in one hand and his bottom in the other, how to stroke him with mouth and hands together. To his amazement, he came, quickly and powerfully: he told her how unusual that was for him, how incredibly strong the feelings were, and how talented she was, all things that she could tell were true. His balls and cock together jumped in her hand like a live fish when he came.

His juices were from him, from deep inside him, like he said, a gift of sorts. She liked the taste, which surprised her mightily. Especially when they shared it afterwards. Powerful, powerful, she was going to be good at all of this. But now, it was time for minimal toilette: he loaned her his toothbrush, and that was somehow an ultimate intimacy. Odd.

Then she was gone. The room smelled delicately of their activities. Barry studied the scent, and slowly stepped into the shower, almost not believing all this had happened.

Breakfast talk, over ersatz coffee with his fellow-delegates, was desultory at best. The next time he saw Missy, she was back in front of the group, translating some sub-minister's remarks.

At lunch, she sought him out, and pressed a small official-looking envelope into his hand: "Message for you, Doctor Barry." She left immediately. He excused himself from the conversation, opened it: the folded slip inside had written on it "Open in private please". He did so, unobtrusively shielding the sheet from view.

It read "Dear Doctor Barry. I have been wet (perhaps you can guess where?) all morning. I am still wet now, and I expect to stay that way this afternoon. It is all your fault. Because it is your fault, I think you should help me fix the problem. If you would like to help, I could bring the problem to your room at 7:30 tonight after dinner. If you nod your head to me next time we see one another today, I will come to the room and knock five times. Conditions at home, with my daughter, are the same as last night, if you wish."

First chance, he nodded. She smiled briefly at him, quite non-committally, and passed him without another glance. Nicely done.

She knocked at precisely 7:30. He let her in, and as soon as the door was shut they frantically stripped one another and fell together onto the bed. They broke their clinch only after some minutes, winding up laughing at themselves for their eagerness, and discussing what they were going to be doing together, and to one another.

Missy found it very easy, and very exciting, to lie there just gently fondling whatever parts attracted attention, and discussing pleasuring one another. It was a topic worthy of very detailed consideration. After several minutes of gentle mutual nuzzling and exploring, Missy asked if it would be okay for her to call home, even though she didn't need to do so: she had already told everyone that she would probably not be home again tonight.

Barry agreed, told her it was a good thing, he wouldn't be the least bit upset. Sister answered, or so he assumed from the tone of the conversation: certainly Missy wasn't talking to a little kid, and she'd said Mother wouldn't actually answer the phone. He lay there with his erection waving in the breeze while Missy talked and fondled him at the same time, without hesitation or obvious embarrassment. Barry knew that that would have been the case a week ago, and felt quite pleased with himself as the responsible agency.

Missy got into a very animated conversation, so much so that Barry wondered what was going on: every few moments Missy would giggle, turn red, and drop her voice conspiratorially as though to be certain he couldn't understand her, even though she knew full well he couldn't understand a word. He got more and more curious, and finally reached up and flipped Missy onto her back, spread her legs and buried his face in her crotch, making her squeal loudly into the receiver and then launch into a breathless, highly interrupted discussion of... what? He didn't know, and didn't really care. He was having fun, and so, apparently, was Missy. She finally hung up the phone, relaxed against his face, and came instantly with a pent-up fury that surprised both of them.

Eventually, she calmed down and answered Barry's query. Yes, that had been her sister Hanshi on the phone. And yes, they were very close and Missy always told Hanshi everything. And she meant EVERYthing! She turned prettily red as she admitted to that.

But Hanshi didn't date, even though she was twenty-nine. That was not unusual in this society, because dating was a western decadence hence had been frowned upon for generations, and marriage was expected to occur late due to population and social pressures. Nevertheless, a woman not married by Hanshi's age would most likely never get married, so Hanshi was destined to be an old maid, almost certainly. Just like her older sister, now.

The two sisters were a badly-matched pair in terms of marriages and offspring, a grand disappointment to their Mother and other relatives. It was too bad, because Hanshi was a very nice person, or so thought Missy. Now that Missy and Barry were having sexual adventures, Hanshi was extremely curious and very, very jealous. She had made Missy tell her everything, all the details of their lovemaking, and even just now she had been describing both Barry, and his actions, and her own actions, and especially how things felt and what her feelings were. Right while Barry was eating her!

That amused Barry no end: he told her that nothing like that had ever happened to him, except for once when a girl-friend had insisted on opening his pants and sucking on him while he was on an important business call. Missy tee-heed over that image, then said she hoped Barry didn't mind her telling everything to her sister... Did he? She could stop if he wished.

Barry told her not only did he not mind, but that he thought it very sexy to think of Hanshi knowing all about their sex life. It was okay with him: in fact, if Hanshi could speak English, he told Missy, he would find it exciting to participate in the descriptions over the phone. Missy swatted him gently, and expressed her genuine amazement at his liberality. And she pointed out that a week earlier, she would have thought it unbelievable that anyone, much less herself, could have such a conversation as this... or could have adventures like hers to relate to a sister.

Barry expressed his regrets that Hanshi was in such a predicament, tried to explain that in his own society her situation would be anything but unusual and certainly not looked down upon, but that didn't help anything much... even though Missy seemed to understand.

She listened to him for a while, and when he ran down, she took a deep breath and said "I think I should tell you some things about my sister. I told you that Mother survived Nanking, and that makes her different from other women. I will tell you some things so you will understand when I say Hanshi is, well, very different from me."

"She is only twenty-nine, still almost a baby! But she has a good technical education in mathematics: she is a statistician. She speaks a little bit of English, but not very much. She is much bigger than me: she is tall, only a little shorter than you, maybe she comes up to your eyebrows. And thin, too. She has almost no tits."

She laughed slightly: "Maybe my husband should have married Hanshi instead of me! That was so important to him!" Then, "We have different fathers, Hanshi and I, so the differences between us are not surprising, maybe. My father died of pneumonia. That is too bad, because Mother says he was a nice man, and today we could cure him easily. Mother will not talk about Hanshi's father: none of us have ever seen him and we do not even know his name."

"Oh. Life can be difficult and unfair. I'm sorry." said Barry. He went no further.

Missy looked at him speculatively: "And Mother never will tell us, either. Barry, I told you that in China women are not valued highly. Hanshi is a victim of that. She is very shy, and afraid of men, and for a good reason. When she was just a little girl, about eleven, she was attacked by three men, in the dark, one winter night when she was coming home from school. They were drunk, we think. We hope so, because we do not want to think that men who were sober could do such a thing."

"One of them stomped hard on her foot to break it so she couldn't run away. They hit her with a bottle, on the head. Then they raped her. She was lucky, really, because they were discovered and ran away before they could decide to kill her, which would not be unusual here. But the bottle broke when they hit her and it made a serious cut from here to here..."

She indicated from the bridge of her nose to well up in her right-side hair-line.

"The cut did not heal well, so she has a long, thin bright red scar. It is impossible to conceal with makeup or with a haircut. And her foot was badly broken: she still has a limp. So she is valueless to most Chinese men: she isn't a virgin, she is getting old already, she has a scar and a limp."

She shrugged: "She will never marry. No matchmaker would do anything but laugh at the idea of making a match for her, and it is impossible for us to arrange enough marriage-money, I mean a dowry, to overcome these defects. She has never even had a boyfriend. She will not marry and she will be both unhappy and disappointed all her life because of that. We talk about it every once in a while. It is too bad."

Barry listened, made what he hoped were appropriate comments, not too judgmental, about the local customs in such matters. By quiet mutual consent, the topic seemed to just melt away into slow, gentle stroking. Missy lay there with her fingers around his cock and balls while Barry's hands did yet another full-body, whole-skin inventory of her own body. Shortly she was purring again, the slight blue mood gone with his touches.

Eventually Barry stood up, leaned over, and picked her up like a doll. Her arms went around his neck, and she nuzzled against the special little hollow at the base of his big neck-ligaments. He carried her to the bathroom, stood her in the tub, turned on the water full blast, hot. At first she was concerned about the water... such profligacy! But it was paid for, after all, and he could say it was being used in the service of his stay and under invitation from the PRC.