Yen's Road Trip Ch. 01

NOTE - this story is a fantasy. It has elements of bondage, violence, racial sterotypes, cuckolding, and all around bad stuff. It is a story about bad people making bad decisions. Pointing out the 'right' decisions in the comments entirely misses the point and is a waste of your time. The story takes place in a strange alternate universe where STDs don't exist, and faster than light space travel is possible, just no one has invented it yet, so there you go for your suspension of disbelief. If this doesn't sound like your thing, please don't read.

I sat with my husband in his BMW, parked in front of a roadside diner. Just off the interstate, the restaurant was popular with all sorts of travelers, especially bikers and truck drivers, evidenced by the rows of semi tractor trailer trucks along the road and motorcycles parked in neat rows in the front. One of the trucks was owned by Charles, an African American truck driver, who waited for me inside. Over the course of the next week I would ride alongside of him as his obedient sex slave, obeying his every whim. The following week, I would be handed off to his friend Dwan, another truck driver who I had never met. I would ride back with him, offering my body to him for his use just as I had offered it to Charles.

The noon sun baked the car, causing the air conditioner to whirr louder. My skin moistened with a thin sheen of sweat, not just from heat, but trepidation of my ordeal ahead. I recrossed my legs and ran my hands under my bare thighs to keep them from sticking on the leather seats. I checked my make-up in the sun visor mirror once again, nothing had changed in the past 30 seconds since my last check.

My husband, sensing my apprehension, said, "Yen, you don't need to go through with this."

I didn't respond right away. I had too many thoughts to process at once. "Yes, I do."

"We can just back out of here and go home. Charles doesn't own you."

I giggled and steeled my resolve. "Dear, that's not the point. I want him to."

Charles had given me specific instructions on what to wear, and I reviewed my outfit to make sure I met them. My shorts were not much more than a denim belt. A thin strip of material ran between my legs in a laughable attempt to cover my genitalia. He thought it was funny how I had to constantly peel the crotch from between my pussy lips. They did nothing to cover the globes of my tight ass cheeks. I had only worn them for Charles in private or in a private club, but never in public.

The shorts hung low enough to expose the queen of spades tattoo just above my pubic mound. Charles ordered me to get it as a symbol of my status as black-owned. It was actually a small mercy. First he wanted in on my wrist, then my ankle, but I felt it would be too difficult to hide during the day. On this trip, however, I hoped to return home with a much more enduring symbol of my submission to black cock.

Sweat made my tight white t-shirt nearly transparent. My brown nipples, permanently aroused from the steel bars Charles had me put through them, pressed firmly at the fabric. I didn't even own any bras or panties anymore, Charles banned them shortly after taking ownership of me. Normally he liked me wearing my wedding ring, but he said I should leave it at home because things could get a little rough and someone might steal it off me.

One more glance into the mirror. My face looked absolutely whorish - my almond eyes heavily outlined in black, red eyeshadow and long fake lashes, my lips painted a dark burgundy. I used to have fun with it, playing with the color or wavy perms, but Charles wanted it loose and straight and black, said it made me appear more like the chink I was.

"Are you ready?" My husband asked with concern.

I looked at him and nodded.

"Well, let's get this over with," he sighed. He got out, took my backpack out of the trunk then opened my car door.

I stepped out and balanced on my red platform high heels. The bright sun already began to sting my pale skin. My husband opened my backpack and removed a leather collar and a chain leash. I stood still as he put the collar around my neck and secured the buckle, then clipped the leash to the D-ring that hung below my chin.

I made my way to the restaurant door while my husband followed behind, holding my leash. I would never walk ahead of my master without permission, but I didn't want anyone to think I was my husband's slave. I had to take careful steps on the uneven ground. My heels were not easy to walk in, but Charles found what they did to my posture sexy. I didn't plan on spending too much time on my feet anyway.

When I approached the door, my husband rushed ahead to open it for me. The burst of air-conditioned air felt good on my overheated flesh. The diner wasn't exactly a family type establishment, its customers mostly bikers and truckers, the types to find the sight of a half naked leashed Asian woman teetering on stripper heels odd, but not too outlandish. My white husband, in his khakis and cardigan, probably looked more out of place.

I still got plenty of gawks and stares, however. Some men licked their lips and made lewd comments under their breath, but they kept their hands to themselves, not because my husband who followed close behind, but because my tattoo marked me as Charles's bitch. It made me so horny knowing I was a property of a man who could garner such respect from people like these.

I spotted Charles at the end of the row of booths that ran along the storefront windows. His massive frame hunched over a plate of food as he ate, his bald head glistening from the sunlight coming through the window. Through the window I could see my husband's car. Charles assuredly had a good view of me arriving. He could have easily taken possession of me in the parking lot, or at his truck, but he was testing me, seeing how much humiliation I would go through for him.

I did my best strut down the aisle, praying I wouldn't trip and fall or otherwise embarrass myself and by extension, Charles. This lifestyle still didn't come naturally to me. The night before my husband and I were at a wine and cheese soiree. The day before I performed three caesarean sections as a senior OB/Gyn at my hospital. Honestly, I think if it all did come naturally, if I was just one of the gutter slut bimbos waiting out in the parking lot for a $5 trick, this wouldn't be as enjoyable to him. Watching me debase myself for him was so much more entertaining because I had so far to fall.

When I reached him, Charles didn't look up from his plate. Since I didn't have his permission to sit or speak, I stood at the foot of the table and looked straight ahead. My husband was under no obligation, so he plopped down on the seat opposite Charles and set my bag next to him.

I could see Charles lift his head slightly in disgust at the behavior of the white boy, but he was above petty things and went back to finish his meal. He took a sip from his drink, then held out his hand to my husband.

"Do your thing and get."

He placed the handle of my leash in Charles's outstretched hand, effectively and symbolically acknowledging that Charles owned his wife.

As he started to leave, I said to him, "Wait." Charles looked up and flashed me a scolding look. I was to be used, not heard. I looked at my husband then back at him. His brow unfurrowed and he nodded, allowing me to continue.

"Hand me my backpack, I have a present for you," I told my husband.

The backpack contained the few things Charles let me bring - my cell phone, my driver's license, toiletries, make-up, and two outfits in case I had to appear 'normal'. There was one thing he left up to me to bring or not, and I found it in the front zipper compartment.

I waited for my husband to hold out his hand, then I placed the round plastic container in it. "My birth control pills."

I could see Charles smile slightly. He had been encouraging me to humiliate my husband more. The way my husband scuttled off, hunched over, his hands over his crotch to cover his erection, I think I did him well.

With my husband gone, Charles set my leash on the table.

He waved his hand in front of him. "Sit."

I did as I was told.

"Are you hungry? We won't be stopping for a while."

"You know what I'm hungry for."

"You'll get plenty of that, for sure." He called the waitress over.

"Get her a cheeseburger and a tall glass of orange juice, she'll need to keep her strength up."

The middle-aged white lady nodded to Charles, then gave me a long, disgusted glare, then walked off.

"So, you are sure about the pills?"

"I actually stopped taking them a week ago."

"And no sex with hubbie?"

"Have you given me permission to have sex with him?"

He laughed. To him this was a game that humored him, for me, it was my life. "How about any of the other brothers, any of them bust a nut in you?"

"Not since I stopped taking my birth control."

Charles's ownership of my body extended beyond my time with him. I didn't have sex with my husband without his permission, I couldn't even masturbate without his permission. The only exception was other black men. While he charged for my services when he was in town, he liked the idea of his prestigious Asian doctor slut giving it up for free to any lowly brother who asked. If a black man came on to me, I could postpone, but not deny, access to my body. Charles understood I couldn't exactly be slipping off to get fucked every 15 minutes and keep my position as a medical doctor, so he left the timing to my discretion. There were a few black men among the staff at the hospital that I regularly drained of sperm, but they understood my relationship with Charles and that I wanted his baby, so they had to be happy with my mouth or ass for a while.

"As we discussed, I'm cool with you being unprotected, but I'm not entirely cool with you having my baby. I got enough babies out there. I'm not opposed, just not totally cool with it. So, you know you're gonna be fucking alot of other dudes on this trip?"

I nodded my head. "As long as they are black."

He grabbed my leash and yanked, pulling me out of my seat so my face was inches from his. "Bitch, you'll fuck who I tell you to fuck. Don't be thinking you'll be having any say in the matter."

I heard people gasp behind me. He looked around and noticed the waitress giving him a dirty look.

He loosened his grip on my leash, allowing me to sit back down. He spoke in a softer tone. "Bitch, this getting knocked up thing is your idea, not mine."

"I want your baby, Charles. You know that. If I can't have that, I at least want a black baby. If I wanted a white baby I'd just fuck my husband."

The waitress had showed up with my food. "Chuck, we've been over this, do what you want with your whores in the parking lot, but not in here. Bob told me to tell you to take the leash off."

Charles relented, and reached over and un-clipped the leash and handed it to me. I put it in my backpack. I had to restrain myself from smiling from watching Charles momentarily transform from my hulking overlord to a chastised customer. It only reinforced my lowly position to everyone in the room. I had to remain expressionless however. The last time I showed amusement at him being berated by another woman, he took it out on my ass. You try to explain for a week to a bunch of stuffy old white doctors why you can't sit down.

The waitress set my food down in front of me, gave Charles a firm look and walked off.

"Eat."

When I had control of myself, I was a vegetarian, bordering on vegan. When I told him this, he laughed as said I was an even bigger stuck up bitch than I looked. Eating this disgusting, greasy meat would only prove to Charles that I was willing to let him stuff anything inside my body he wanted.

"Finish quickly. We won't stop again until nightfall and I am already behind schedule."

***

The fantasy of giving myself to black men sexually and the fantasy of carrying a black baby had always been intertwined, one required the other. While I was less reluctant to indulge the former, it was the latter that introduced me to this world, an introduction that came when I met Alice Wang-Johnson. I first met her when I walked into my examination room and found her waiting with her husband, both concerned why she wasn't getting pregnant.

Her husband was white, and she Chinese, like me, and we both spoke Mandarin. I learned from speaking it with my parents and aunts and uncles. She grew up in Shanghai until she was 16, so her Mandarin was a little coarser, more mixed with slang and what you would call 'dirty' words. I loved learning that side of my heritage from her.

In every one of our appointments, there were two conversations going. When going over charts and lab results and other doctor/patient things, we would talk in English. In between she would switch to Mandarin and incessantly dig into her husband, saying things like she can't get pregnant because the cum just gurgles out of her pussy because her husband's dick is so small he can't get it in deep enough. Once she told me if she knew how bad he was in bed, she might as well have married Chinese. I know this may seem obvious to both of us now, most young Chinese girls are under the misapprehension that white men have the best cocks. The funniest things she said were when I didn't understand some word and she wouldn't want to say it in English, so she would use hand gestures and her husband would just have this confused look on his face.

At one of her appointments, she mentioned, in Mandarin, an African-American at her work who was flirting with her. She wondered if the myth was true. I laughed and told her statistically, maybe a little, but porn massively exaggerates it. She said in English - "that's one study I'd love to collect data on." Her husband just looked at her strangely but Alice and I both laughed.

She did have some problems, but nothing that would prevent a pregnancy. We cleared them up over a few appointments, then I gave her a clean bill of health and I wished her luck. When I told her that we fixed all her problems, she pointed to her husband and said in Mandarin, "I haven't fixed that big problem, but I'm working on it."

Four months later, she returned to my office 10 weeks pregnant. I congratulated her and her husband and we laid out our delivery schedule. When I asked her husband if he was happy his wife was finally pregnant, Alice said in Mandarin, "he sure was happy watching me get pregnant." I figured there was a language issue and she meant 'happy getting her pregnant', but she meant it exactly how she said it.

Throughout the pregnancy, she kept telling me she had a surprise for me and for me not to be shocked when the baby comes out. Honestly, at this point I thought she might be a little delirious from anemia, something quite common with pregnant women. I prescribed her an iron supplement and told her to eat more foods with Vitamin C.

When she finally gave birth, once the baby started to crown I realized she had been entirely clear headed all along. Even purely white or Asian babies are a little purple and discolored when they come out, but this baby had dark mocha colored skin. I gasped and struggled to remain professional. It wasn't the first time we delivered a baby obviously not fathered by the man holding the hand of the mother, but paternity really was no concern of ours. We did our jobs without comment.

She gave birth to a very healthy girl, above average in size and weight, with the cutest head of thick, wavy black hair. The biggest surprise of all was her husband seemed entirely unphased, he held the baby as if it was his own. Gone were Alice's derisive comments, she seemed very loving and appreciative towards him. I figured all's well that ends well, and I signed off on them and they left the hospital the next day.

I had been keeping my husband up-to-date on Alice, looking back he seemed almost obsessed with her, always asking if I saw her. I told him about the color of the baby. Instead of acting disgusted as I expected, he got a big smile on his face.

"It was the co-worker, wasn't it?" he asked.

From the way he leaned forward expectantly, I knew the answer he wanted to hear. "What is wrong with you? Her husband seemed excited about it too."

He told me that there were married women out there who had sex with black men with the full approval of their husbands. The husbands either like to listen to their wife's account afterwards or actually masturbate while watching the wife have sex with her black lover. I found this difficult to believe, it flew in the face of marriage as a convention of status and fidelity. I asked him how he heard about this, and he got a little defensive and told me he just read about it on the internet.

Normally, I only deal with pregnant women with complications. Since Alice was no longer a pregnant woman with complications, I should have handed her off to a nurse or a less senior doctor. Instead I filed some paperwork that said Alice had language difficulties and I'd remain her doctor to help translate.

I started texting or calling her almost every day. I justified it by telling myself I was concerned about her well-being. Often, when the father questions the paternity of his wife's baby, it could lead to abandonment, abuse, or worse. She and the baby were very healthy and the husband showed no signs of being an abuser. I didn't really have an excuse for what I was doing.

After a few weeks of this, she texted me back - "why are you texting me so much?"

That was the first time it struck me how unprofessional I had been. I could get in serious trouble for harassing a patient. I immediately texted back. "I'm very sorry, I know I have been contacting you too much, I'm just concerned about you. I will stop and only contact you through my office."

She responded. "Maybe you aren't as concerned as you are curious."

I was panicking by now. I wondered if I should report my actions to my chief physician. It usually went better if you were upfront about inappropriate contact with a patient before they filed an official complaint.

I hesitated, but eventually responded - "I'm sorry, I will stop. I'm being unprofessional."

"Quit being stuck up! I consider you my friend. If you are curious, call me."

I gulped. I needed some time to calm down, so I told her I'd call her in the evening.

When I called her, she basically confirmed my husband's suspicion. She got frustrated with her husband and gave in to her black co-worker. She felt she needed to do it to relax, but made him wear a condom. The sex was so good she started wanting it more and more. He talked his way out of using condoms. The risk of pregnancy made their encounters that much more thrilling.

He told her how to handle her husband to get him to accept her affair. He seemed to have done this before. She even convinced her husband to be in the room watching while her lover had unprotected sex in their marital bed. It was all a contrivance, however, she knew she was already pregnant, but wanted to give her husband the experience so it would make him more accepting of raising another man's child.

I felt dizzy hearing this, and I had to sit down. The whole concept seemed so bizarre. I talked to my husband about it and he seemed surprisingly agreeable. He told me interracial sex is the best form of sex. He told me to remember the excitement when I, a Chinese woman, had sex with a white man for the first time. Sleeping with a black man was a step up from that. 'Step up'... I wondered why he used that phrase.

At her next appointment, a very handsome, tall black man accompanied her. She introduced him as 'Leon', her co-worker. Alice barely reached 5 feet, and she barely passed this man's elbow. His thighs were thicker than her waist. The mechanics of their love-making seemed almost preposterous, but obviously they worked it out. We focused on her baby, her friend mostly just listened and nodded his head.