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Contains adult themes and explicit sex.  Read at your own risk.

Comments and suggestions welcome.  Flames cheerfully ignored.

For personal use only - if you repost, please include this header.

Copyright 1996, by Javahead

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Note:

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

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		       "Paying the Price"
			      by
			    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 Exibit "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  tweeked
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 duelling 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.  Curiousity 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.
