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First Night At The Red Lantern - Part 1
by The Red Lantern
DISCLAIMER: All characters are 18+.
CONTENT WARNING: The following story contains raceplay that readers may find objectifying or otherwise insensitive
THANK YOU: to BryanRichardson and ChloeTzang for helping to refine this work.
"It's okay to share with the group, Hyunna," the oldest woman says. A few creases near her eyelids are the only physical signs of her age, but the calm understanding etched on her face says that I'm not alone. "Tell us how you're feeling."
Eleven faces look back, nodding sympathetically. Eleven Asian women with the same problem. The same tiger lurks within all of us, and the night promises that, with each other's support, we can learn to live with it one day at a time.
We sit in folding metal chairs. Brightly colored cartoon characters frolic through a grubby green and brown forest, their glee frozen in paint on the hard stone walls. It's winter, and the heat is way too high.
"It's been seven days since I sucked a white man's dick. That's not a long time, I know, but I want to so bad, I can feel it and I'm not sure if I can ever stop." My hand goes to my chest. One of the other girls mirrors my gesture, her beautifully tanned fingers coming to rest just below her neck.
These women know.
"But something inside me's been breaking. And now? I don't know what I'm doing. I don't even know why I'm here. I've lost my focus, and I don't know what the point is anymore. I need to suck white dick, I know I do, but why? Why do I feel this need?" My face sinks into the palms of my hands.
I'm a terrible person for dumping my problems on these poor women. It won't help with anything, I'm sure, but this is the only place I can share. If anyone will understand, this group of women will. In any case, what's done is done. I've already told Coach that I'm quitting the team.
The oldest woman leans in with the empathy that I need right now. "You did the right thing coming here, Hyunna. We all feel the same ... need. We all want white dick, as you put it, and we understand. But, for our own reasons, it's best if we don't act on it. I've been coming here ever since ... anyway, I couldn't have been much older than you when I came to my first meeting."
Her decision to not explain what drove her here forces my mind to assume the worst, and it summons a very clear picture of her, twenty years younger, my age or perhaps a little older, down on her hands and knees being spitroasted by two hairy, overweight white men who are thrusting their White Cocks into her with vigorous lust just as her husband opens the door. For some reason her hair is long and straight in my mind's eye, not short and permed into a blown-out bob.
She's still talking, but all I hear in my mind are grunting male voices abusing her, calling her a slant-eyed slut, a horny gook. From her, nothing but muffled moans, her mouth and cunt stuffed full of White Cock. And she can't get enough of any of it.
The other women are all looking at me. Am I supposed to say something?
"Every day is a new struggle," the older woman says softly. "You can share your struggle with us, Hyunna, if you want."
Air fills my lungs, fresh and warm."I was part of our school's blowjob team. At first, I loved it. Practice was the highlight of my day. We trained every day after school. We trained on weekends. We trained outside in the sun and the rain. I even stayed on after our team training ended, and trained in the showers with the football team."
I can't help but relive that moment, being on my knees in the shower with more guys than I can count. Hot water and hotter white dick splashing over my face and naked, soapy body. Grunting, thrusting male power filling my mouth. Cockhead pushing into my throat, pubic hair brushing my nose. Hands hold my head as I swallow. Cheering when I lick another cock clean.
Telling myself it's practice when I know what it really is.
A few of the women shift in their seats as the meaning of "training" sinks in. Hunger flashes in their eyes.
I continue. "But as the season went on, I didn't love it so much. Still, I had to do it. Not just because I was on the team, I still feel that ..."
That tiger. That pull. That need. That drive. That insatiable desire for White Cock.
"... that snow fever. Except I don't have the peace and joy that's supposed to come with it anymore. I've lost that and I don't know where it went. Now? I don't know what to do. White Cock is what makes life worth living but I just don't feel that drive to compete anymore. I've lost my focus, my competitive edge. It's gone." My hands cover my face again.
I want to cry but there's nothing there. Just emptiness where there used to be that craving, that excitement, that joy as I satisfied another White Cock. I'm such a mess.
"Let's take a moment to celebrate Hyunna's personal journey and her struggle. Seven days is where it almost always starts," the older woman says.
"We've all been where you are, Hyunna," she adds gently. "That's why we're all here. To share and to help each other."
A lady wearing a thin, chic black jacket catches her breath. She stands up, one eyelash holding back a tear. She reaches out to me.
The other women stand, too, and they all come to me, sweeping me into a tender group hug. Surrounding me with their empathy and strength.
Maybe I'll get through this. Maybe I can learn to live with this fracture inside my soul. Maybe I can learn to live without White Cock?
Perhaps with the strength and support of women going through the same thing, perhaps with their empathy and guidance, I can somehow find a way to ...
Clack, clack, clack.
The sound of metal slapping the stone floor.
An ancient woman, her face grizzled with age, her hair frayed into a few wispy white strands, makes her way down the stairs one at a time. Her chrome walking cane clacks on each step. When she speaks, her voice is a croaking toad. "Is there a Hyunna Song here?"
The group breaks up and backs away from me.
"I'm Hyunna," I say.
"There's someone upstairs asking for you. She says it's urgent." With that, the lady turns, switching the cane into her other hand.
Clack, clack, clack.
The oldest woman in the group motions towards the steps before gathering the rest of the women back into the circle, leaving one chair empty.
Upstairs, a tall Chinese woman leans against the front desk and twirls a red envelope in her hands. She's wearing the same clothes that I am, a red and white Iguthu Lake University sweatshirt and black yoga pants, although hers have white stripes down the side of each leg.
Danielle Wong. She was my Big Sister in the sorority before she graduated last spring.
Vibrant black hair frames her long face before disappearing behind her sweatshirt. Her eyes match her hair, almond-shaped pools the color of the night sea. A slim nose, turning red from the cold weather, sits above wide, full, expressive lips, giving her face a cherubic look.
But none of that is what most people notice about her.
The first thing people notice about Danielle Wong is what she calls her "White Girl Boobs," or "Becky Boobs" when she's drunk. That's a pretty accurate way to put it. In an all-Asian sorority they stand out. Literally.
"Come here, baby girl." She knows I hate it when she calls me that, but she opens her arms and smiles. The red envelope dangles between two fingers. "Give Danielle a hug."
She knows I hate it even more when she refers to herself in the third person.
Danielle comes to me, sweeps me into her embrace, and something feels okay again. For the first time in days, a moment doesn't feel worse than the one before. The descent has stopped and the climb out can begin.
Until this moment, I hadn't realized how safe her presence makes me feel.
I start to cry in her arms but catch myself before the dam breaks and it all pours out.
Danielle strokes my hair and I calm down.
"Hyunna," she says. She looks around with amusement. "This was the dumbest idea you've ever had. Why on earth...? You of all people. Let's get you out of here."
It's chilly outside but there's a lone black car waiting by the front of the building, engine placidly humming. Danielle opens the back door and urges me to slide in. She follows,
The thing I learned in the two years I was lucky enough to have her as my Big Sister is that she's rarely wrong. She sees things that I don't, and I've never regretted trusting her.
"Take us to Market and Bellow," she says to the driver, a handsome guy not much older than us.
The car pulls out of the parking lot onto a poorly lit road. Trees go by the window until my breath fogs the glass.
We don't speak for a full minute. I dread her disapproval, even though I deserve it for running away. Finally I break the silence. "I'm sorry if I --"
Danielle shakes her head and smiles, touching my lips with the red envelope and then putting it in my hands. Thick and sturdy with subtle gold trim, it feels like there's heavy paper inside.
"Open it."
Within are two red invitations with the same gold border. In bold black letters, one reads "Jennifer Lee invites Hyunna Song to visit the Red Lantern," while the other says the same but with Danielle's name in place of mine.
"That Jennifer Lee?"
Danielle nods, her face serious. It always gets serious when she talks about Jennifer.
I've never met her, but all of us in the sorority know her name. She was our first Head Madam, our founder, the one who first brought us Asian sisters together in our own sorority, the one who arranged for us to live in a mansion just off campus, and the one who connected us with the beating heart of the city through our sorority's extravagant, decadent parties.
Danielle has always worshipped the ground Jennifer walks on. She talks about Jennifer the way, well, the way I talk about her.
"How did you find me?" I have to know.
Danielle smiles again. "Your roommate said you were in one of your funks, so when Coach Mackie called me --"
Ice seeps into my veins and my hand grips the door handle like I'm about to open it and roll out of the moving car.
"You poor thing. He said you were spiraling." Her hand finds my arm and rubs it. She taps the invitations and her grin turns impish. "Doctor Danielle got you a prescription for the best medicine in Iguthu Lake. Be careful, though. It's addictive."
She chatters for the rest of the ride, but I'm lost in my head and I don't hear it. She knows I do that, so she dumps all the complaining and gossip on me that she's been dying to get out. Meanwhile, I try to count the number of directions I'm being pulled in but the number keeps wrapping around and goes nowhere.
My teammates need me. Coach Mackie needs me. The first Korean-American to make Nationals.
But the lights, the crowds, the announcers, the competitiveness, the rivalries, the judges, the clock ... the pressure.
The White Cocks.
I hear the yowl of the tiger inside me. It gets restless when it's not fed, and it hasn't been fed for a week now. The tiger inside me needs meat.
White meat.
"Why are you dressed like that?" I ask, interrupting something about budgets.
Danielle laughs. It sounds like music to me. "You always wear oversized sweatshirts and yoga pants when you're moping. And I knew if I showed up in a fuck me black dress with fuck me shoes and a necklace that says --"
"Fuck Me?" I ask, unable to prevent that smile.
"I was gonna say 'Me So Horny' but, yeah, yours works better," she says.
The car pulls to a stop on a crowded street. Traffic continues past us on Danielle's side of the car.
Outside my window, a fiery-haired woman in a silver dress laughs on the arm of a handsome, fit man in a suit. He whispers something in her ear. Their teeth flash for each other, and then the two are replaced in my line of sight by two young girls and three boys wearing hoodies and boots, skateboards tucked under their arms.
Danielle leans over me and opens my door. "So I thought if I showed up dressed like that, you wouldn't leave with me. Let's go, it's only two blocks down Bellow."
Orange streetlights paint fancy restaurants, microbreweries, and overly cute shops down each side of Market Street as far as I can see, which is only a few blocks. It's chilly, and we have to weave through a group of drunk, middle-aged men to cross the sidewalk to the intersection. They cheer and point at their faded Iguthu Lake sweatshirts when we pass.
"Go Swallows!" Danielle says, turning to face them for a moment and waving. They hold up cans of beer in paper bags, fall in love with her, and then disappear once the light changes.
Bellow Street is a quiet, uneven cobblestone lane as old as the city of Iguthu Lake itself. Just down the hill, a riverboat sounds its horn. A pickle shop on the corner advertises pickle ice cream, which I hope is a slang term that I don't get. Halfway down the first block, a chess store is closed at this hour. By the next intersection, we can only hear Market Street if we listen really hard.
Several streetlights are out on the second block. A porn store sells sexy outfits and toys in the window. Happy Nice Chinese takeout, written in neon purple, green, and pink, promises hot food. A handwritten chalk sign out front of an all-hours coffee shop offers their special "Medicinal Wellness Edibles."
"Fuck off." A scraggly man waves at us from a stoop under a broken streetlight. There's no aggression in his voice.
"Fuck off!" Danielle responds, cheerily, and waves.
"Friend of yours?" I ask.
She shrugs. "Only thing I've ever heard him say. He's there every day but he's never bothered anyone. Except one time I got catcalled by a kid at the coffee shop, then he hassled the kid into apologizing."
The man goes back to counting something, although I can't see what.
In the middle of the uphill side of the block, a lone red lantern hangs above a heavy wooden door set into a frame of large stone blocks. It bears no sign and makes no boasts, yet two men in suits are stopped under its light by a third, larger bald man in a sharp black collared shirt. Muscles bulge under the bald man's short sleeves.
The two men in suits show invitations not unlike our own, although they're shiny and gold instead of red. Satisfied, the large man opens the door for them, letting warm yellow light pour over the sidewalk where Danielle and I wait.
He closes the door behind them, shutting us off from the glow.
"Invitations, please," he says.
Danielle nods to me. I open the envelope and show him the red invitations.
"Is tonight the night I get to suck your dick, Steve?" Danielle asks. She points at me and smiles outrageously. "I'll bring my friend."
"Someone's gotta watch the front, Miss Wong." He opens the door for us, and it's not so chilly anymore.
Inside, two colored paths cut through a fierce red carpet. One pink lotus-colored pathway swerves sharply to the left and leads to stairs going deeper beneath the city. The other yellow one curves around an L-shaped wooden desk staffed by two Asian women in red dresses, and continues through an archway.
Golden Chinese dragons dance through a bamboo forest on the wall between the stairs and the archway. The rest of the walls depict a river twisting between sharply pointed hills.
The two men in suits hand their gold invitations to one of the girls, who takes them formally with both hands and, with practiced grace, slips them into a slim brown box on the desk. The other girl greets the men warmly, and ushers them towards the arch, directing them to the men's changing room.
Soft music and festive conversation calls from beyond, punctuated by the peal of feminine laughter. A soft murmur of women's voices wafts towards us from the stairway.
"Heyy, Ling," Danielle says once the men disappear through the archway, leaning over the counter to exchange cheek kisses with the girl behind the box. She bows her head to the other girl, who returns it, a tiny smile cracking the corner of her lips. "Kimiko."
I hand the invitations to Ling. She looks them over and hands mine back to me and Danielle's back to her.
"You don't keep them?" I ask.
"Red ones, you keep. They're good any time for any reason. Most importantly," Ling says, raising a dainty finger to point toward the stairs going down. "It lets you down there, to the girls' changing area."
"And the gold ones those two had?" I ask, pointing toward the empty archway that the men had walked through
Ling nods. "Favors Miss Lee hands out."
The stairs take us down to the girls' changing area, a long, wide hallway with half a dozen small dressing rooms branching off from it. Danielle tells me on the way down that this building was a fort back in the 18th century, and that this was its prison.
Now it looks like the dressing room of a broadway theater. Racks of dresses and outfits perch haphazardly and seemingly at random, meanwhile lights and vanity mirrors fill every corner while a strawberry fragrance fills the air.
"We should change," Danielle says, sifting through a rack of clothes. She pulls out a sheer white see-through blouse with a very short blue pleated schoolgirl skirt, and a lacy black and white maid uniform. "Slutty Asian schoolgirls? Or slutty Asian maids?"
"Schoolgirl, a hundred percent," I say. "Sometimes when I wear a maid outfit, guys want to see me clean something. But in a schoolgirl outfit, no one tries to get me to do algebra."
"You're missing out on part of the fun!" Danielle tosses the schoolgirl outfit to me and finds one for herself. She giggles and her voice gets high and girly. "'Is there anything else I can make sparkle, Sir?'"
We change quickly. Danielle pulls my hair back into pigtails, fixing them in place with pink Hello Kitty hair ties, and I return the favor. The mirror tells us we both look good. My blouse is so sheer my perky breasts are visible under it. The skirt's hem ends a few inches above the tops of a pair of white thigh-high stockings, leaving a strip of pale olive skin visible. Danielle's red top only comes down to her tummy, and her plaid skirt reaches almost to her knees. Ankle socks complete her look.
She stops at the end of the hallway, right before the big stairs up to the main room of the club. Two massage tables rest in the corner, and a jug and several shot glasses sit on a tray on top of the closer one. When she pours two shots, I notice a playing card taped to the tray, a Queen of Hearts.
"That's the name of the drink," Danielle says, handing me a shot glass. We clink them together and drink them down. It's minty and warm, and washes away my nervousness with alcohol. "It's mostly just peppermint schnapps, soju, and whatever else we have lying around, and if you want to wash the taste of cock out of your mouth, this'll do it."
Danielle's so cool.
We go up the stairs together and they open into a large, festive room. Dim lights hang in the hazy air and, under their soft red and gold glow, white men in matching fuzzy white bathrobes roam the open center of the room. Mingling among them like butterflies, Asian women flirt and tease.
Danielle takes my arm, holding onto it like she's using me for support. My head only comes up to her chin so it probably looks ridiculous, but her confidence fuels my own.
A slender girl in a short dress skillfully maneuvers a chubby man into a corner. She laughs at something he says and then slips her hand inside his robe. Across the room, a deeply tanned girl wearing rope lingerie sits on a man's lap, nibbling at his ear to distract his attention from his conversation with the guy next to him.
A comfortable feeling wraps around me like a warm blanket. This is just like our parties. Our best parties. Interesting, sexy, older men coming to our house to enjoy the evening with us.
"I know, right?" Danielle says. She must see the look on my face. "You looked like you saw something familiar."
An open bench speaks to me, the red and black cushions rub the thin nylon of my schoolgirl blouse against my skin, sending delightful tingles from my back to my arms and legs.
Nearby, a short, bald man presses a girl in a maid outfit against a stone column that soars to the ceiling above. They kiss passionately and she pretends to bite at him like a lioness. With playful grins, the two slip behind a bamboo and paper wall.
Danielle sits facing me, legs curled underneath her. "Two guys behind me watched us come in. One had blonde hair and one brown. Are they coming towards us?"
"I don't think so." I look up, too conspicuously. The blonde guy smiles and says something to his friend, who taps his shoulder and they both start coming our way. "Now they are. Both of them."
"I'm going to use the Phuong gambit," Danielle says and grins.
I have no idea what that means but the guys are on us before I can ask.
The blonde guy gives us both a nervous smile, he has nice brown eyes and a slender face. His bathrobe hangs around his shoulders and is cinched tight at his narrow waist. The other guy has bright blue eyes and an obviously muscular build. His robe doesn't so much hang on his body as it stretches over it.
The blonde man breaks the ice. "Hello, ladies. My friend and I --"
Danielle holds her hand up. "Which one of you is the wingman?"
They both look at her for a second. The brown-haired man shifts his weight.
"One of you is looking to talk to one of us, and the other is his wingman. Or something close to that." Danielle spins slowly to face them, stretching her long legs until her ankle socks touch the floor. She leans forward a bit, letting the front of her schoolgirl blouse hang open for them to look down, which they do.
The brown-haired, muscled guy catches himself and forces himself to look her in the eyes. The blonde man looks from her to me and then back again.
"So Mister Wingman," Danielle says, turning directly towards the large, brown-haired man. "It's either going to happen for your friend or it isn't, so you're going to save him a lot of time if you tell me which of us he's hoping to meet."
The two men look at each other, neither seems to know what to say. Finally, the blonde man looks at me.
"Her," he says, motioning his chin towards me and then looking down at the ground. "Your outfit. I couldn't help but notice, and the more I noticed..."
Both of them look at Danielle, and she looks at me.
He's pretty cute, and definitely my type. His approach was charming, and he seems to be handling Danielle pretty well, as best as anyone can.
Danielle reads me instantly and stands up, linking her arm around the muscular arm of Mister Wingman. She adopts an open, vapid expression and an equally vapid voice. "I heard that white men have big penises, but I never believed it. Is it true?"
She winks at me before leading him away towards the outer edges of the room. He looks behind him at the blonde-haired man with a confused but accepting expression.
The blonde man watches them go. "I'm not sure what just happened."
Okay, this is fun. You can never tell what's going to happen with Danielle around, but it's always good. And here I am, talking to a cute white guy. It's my hand to play.
I shrug. "He's probably going to be okay. If he's not back in two, maybe three days, it's best to forget about him."
"This has not gone how I expected," the blonde guy says. The way he looks me up and down, eyeing my white stockings, short skirt, and transparent top, it makes me feel dirty, sexy, and wanted. "Although I'm not complaining. What can I call you?"
"Hyunna," I say, my hand going to my chest.
A bead of sweat forms on his brow as he tries to look me in the eyes even though I'm drawing his attention downward. It feels good watching him fight to be gentlemanly when I know he wants to put his hands all over me.
"Derek," he croaks, and then clears his throat. "I'm Derek. I'm in town for a project with Lance. Do you know Lance?"
"Is that him?" I ask, pointing in the direction where Danielle took Mister Wingman.
"No, Lance is my boss," Derek says. He points to the bench I'm sitting on. "Mind if I sit down?"
On the bench next to us, a girl with a short black bob haircut and a black kimono opens the robe of the man sitting next to her and lowers her head into his lap. He stretches his arms over the hard wooden back of the pew and lets out a moan. "Oh, fuck yeah."
"How about we find our own place?" I say.
"Yes." His eyebrows furrow but his eyes linger on her bobbing black hair.
This is just like one of our sorority parties. There's no jealousy or competition. I wrap my arm around Derek's and watch with him. That girl's not stealing my thunder, she's giving me lightning.
He blushes and I can't help but giggle. That makes him blush harder.
The warm red carpet melts a little of the icicle that's gripped my insides for the last week. Even the pressure eases. Just a little, but I'm finally able to feel something else.
"Lead the way," he says.
I run my fingers through one of my pigtails like a comb. "This is my first time here. I don't know where the private rooms are."
"My first time, too. I guess we'll find them together," Derek says, offering his arm and taking me around the outskirts of the party.
A man with a neat grey beard leans against the wall near the stairs. I recognize his face. He's the lead anchorman for IG1, the local news.
Two girls in matching red cheongsams kneel at his feet and lick his rock hard White Cock. One of his hands rests on each of the girls' heads.
My shoulder and back twitch as I watch them worship him. One of the girls looks up at me with dark, mysterious eyes. I feel a connection to her.
The center of the room is the noisiest part, so the private areas have to be away from there. We come across a short hallway made of bamboo and paper walls with sliding doors, three open and three closed.
"Think this is it?" I ask.
Two men, one tall and slender, the other short and pudgy, march by us. They're professors from my college, but I never had either in class so they don't recognize me. In between them, a short Asian girl, not much taller than me, hurries to keep pace with their long strides. She wears a black bra and panty set with lots of black straps wrapping her midsection and thighs. A leather collar around her neck sports an elegantly thin black leash held by the taller man.
The trio slips into one of the open rooms.
"I heard 'sucky sucky long time' were the first words of English you learned," one of the men says.
Desire smolders in the girl's eyes, and her parted lips tell me she has the two professors right where she wants them. The door slides shut.
I know what they're going to do to her in there. I know what she's going to do to them.
The tiger inside me tickles my thighs. I shift my weight back and forth between my legs, suddenly turned on. My breathing picks up. I get warm and sensitive.
There's no way I can turn back now.
"I think this is it," Derek says. His voice is thick. He's feeling something, too, and is trying to keep it together.
I'm going to enjoy getting him to lose control.
Inside one of the two remaining rooms, three of the walls are mere paper and bamboo, but the other is a mortared stone foundation that looks a couple centuries old. From a small white pipe in the stone wall, a constant stream of water babbles over a small garden of smooth, round rocks, masking almost any sounds from nearby rooms. A small, discrete pile of moist hand towels sits nearby.
The plucking of a stringed instrument floats from a small speaker above the foundation, its tones strange and simple, but relaxing.
My mind gets stuck on the feeling of my panties clinging to my shaved Asian pussy.
The carpets are the same soft red color as the rest of the floor, but the fibers seem thicker against the nylon on my feet. Next to the fountain, a plush, dark purple velvety chair perches, throne-like, facing the sliding door. Nearby, two small cushioned loveseats face generally towards the fountain and throne.
I grab Derek's arm and pull him in, sliding the door closed behind us. His blonde hair ruffles. A little sticks up in the back and I want to smooth it down.
"Did you want to talk first?" His face is a neon sign in the dark. There's no guile, no malice. He wants me. He wants to do dirty things to my body, act out his filthiest Asian fantasies. "Get to know each other?"
"Did you?" I ask. I tug at the belt of his robe and pull it open enough for me to see what I'm working with.
Derek has nothing to worry about in that department.
His mouth opens to say something but no sound comes out. Only the bubbling of water. The way he looks at me, like a hawk, makes me feel vulnerable and hunted. But not nervous or afraid.
My slender arms snake behind his back to his neck. I stand on my tiptoes and draw him down to me, and we share a kiss. Sparks fly, bringing us closer together. Our bodies press against each other and I feel him hardening against my schoolgirl skirt.
I kiss him. He kisses me. His robe slips off with the barest touch.
His arms wrap around my body, his self-consciousness defeated. One hand holds the small of my back while the other dips under my skirt and palms one of my butt cheeks.
Right now, I don't have to be the Hyunna Song that the rest of the world expects. I can be who I want, and have what I want.
I run one stocking against the back of his leg, letting the nylon brush his bare white skin. He closes his eyes when I squirm against him, letting his hard White Cock rub against my tummy. My finger traces his chin and lips. "Do you want me to be your ... little ... Oriental ... cocksucker?"
"Yes," he says, his brown eyes desperate. "I want that."
Lowering myself to my knees until my face is level with his twitching white shaft, I give the tip a wet, open-mouthed kiss. My lips get hot and a red flame spreads through my body. Rather than taking him into my mouth, I lick down the sides, looking up at him to gauge how close to letting go he is. "Say it. Tell me what you want."
"I want." Struggle is written across his face. He knows what he wants but he's afraid of what I'll think. Just a nudge should do it.
His balls are tangy with sweat. I let the musky scent fill my nose. His White Cock is heavy against my face. With a soft sigh, my hands run from his crotch to his flat, toned abs.
"I want," he grunts. "Some 'sucky sucky.'"
The look of surprise on his face tells me he just blurted that out without thinking, probably remembering the last thing he heard before we came in here. His vulnerability excites me, pushes my body's instincts to take over.
My tiger howls and I pounce, taking his pulsing white manhood into my Asian mouth.
The surprise on his face thaws into relaxed delight. His hands reach for my pigtails and stroke them as my head bobs back and forth between his legs.
My cheek and jaw muscles get sore quickly. Seven days is long enough for them to need a stretch. The soreness passes into a pleasant warmth as my Asian mouth remembers what it's trained for.
Derek bounces my pigtails in his hands, brushing his thighs with them. He likes my hair, so I give a little twist with each stroke of my head so that the light catches it from different angles. He grunts and a little jet of something salty and hot leaks onto my tongue.
I slow down and wait until he opens his eyes to look at me. My lips smack when I take him out of my mouth and blow on his shaft and tip.
"You're so fucking hot," he says to me, and I feel it.
I feel so sexy that I close my eyes and dive back down on him. I want to please him. I want my Asian mouth and hands to be his whole world, the way his White Cock is mine. I feel so beautiful, down there on my knees in a slutty schoolgirl outfit. Desired and desirable.
My god, I needed this.
Derek brings my attention back to him when he starts to grunt, when his breathing picks up and gets deeper.
I don't want this to end yet.
His eyes open and he looks down at me when I slow down, stop, and pull back, playfully pulling my hair from his grasp. He looks desperate, like a wild animal that hasn't eaten in a lifetime.
Derek bites his lip when I brush the ends of my silky black pigtails around his glistening, pulsing, throbbing white dick. It twitches and he makes a sound that's almost like a sob.
Oh shit. I'm going to fuck this guy.
No. I'm going to make Derek fuck me.
"Did you think you'd get your dick sucked by an Asian girl tonight?" My pigtails brush his twitching shaft and balls when I linger over the word "sucked."
"I don't know," he moans. "Maybe."
"Do you think you're going to fuck an Asian pussy tonight?" I ask, breathing on the tip of his cock.
"Oh my god, I don't know what I think," he says. "Yes, I want to."
Outstanding answer.
"Did you think you'd hear an Asian girl beg," I say. My voice changes to a whimper. "For your Big. White. Cock?"
He doesn't say anything. He stops breathing for a moment. Derek's surprised, lewd, eager expression tells me he wants me to beg. Another outstanding answer.
I stand up slowly. His eyes remain locked on mine with an intensity that sets me on fire.
The single word that comes from my mouth sounds small, solitary, and meek. I'm begging. I know I am, and the sexy, leering grin on his face says he knows it too. "Please."
Both of my hands reach beneath my short skirt to find my panties. I pause, enjoying the way he's looking, his eyes feeding my excitement. I give him another moment before I roll my tiny black thong down my thighs, pausing for a heartbeat at the top of my white stockings. Black. White. Olive skin. A contrast of colors.
Now his eyes leave mine and he looks my body over, seeing it for the first time again. He sucks in a big gasp of air, naked hunger plastered across his face. I'm glad that I kept shaving. My pussy's exposed, and I'm liquid with anticipation.
I keep rolling my panties down my thighs until they're tight around my knees. I stop and look up at him, my legs bound and helpless. I draw my next words out. "Please, sir, I need your Big. White. Dick."
Lifting one toned leg, I slip my foot out of my black panties. "Make me your Dirty ..."
They fall to my other ankle. "... Little ...."
I lift my other foot, my black thong crumpled and hanging from my white stocking before it begins to drop away. "... Asian...."
I'm about to kick them aside, no longer needed. "... Whore."
Derek takes my panties from my foot. He spins me around to face the wall. Taking my hands in his, he presses them against two old iron rings fastened to the solid stone wall, above my head, curling my fingers around the iron. Before I can even breathe, he jams my panties into my mouth.
His erection presses against my lower back because I'm so much shorter than he is, but it doesn't matter to us right now. It slides down as he does, his cock nudging between my thighs. His fingers guide it to me and I part with warm, wet, sticky readiness. He doesn't touch me. He doesn't prepare me. I'm Asian meat.
His first thrust is so powerful that I'm lifted onto my tiptoes. He surges up inside me, thick and hard, and we both sigh.
My brain stops.
I can only feel. My teeth chew my lower lip. A loose strand of hair tickles my ear. It feels like my body has become the whole world, and I don't care about anything but sex.
Oh, god, it's so good, and I know this is what I'm for.
I'm made for white cocks to use. It's my reason for existing.
My palms release the iron rings and press against the cold stone, already slippery with sweat. I push back against him as he pumps into me. My long black hair tickles my arms as each thrust shakes my entire body.
The cold stone crushes against my small firm breasts. My thin blouse is no protection against the harsh friction. Every motion rubs my swollen nipples against the hard wall. The air has a sweet, smoky taste to it, and my high-pitched whimpers of pleasure mix with the sound of babbling water and his deeper grunts.
He grabs my pigtails and pulls down, arching my head and body back. It's hard enough that it heightens the sense of helplessness, of danger, but doesn't hurt at all.
It feels so good. I'm outside my body, looking down at myself pinned to the wall of a former prison cell, while this hungry animal of a white man takes me the way a wolf takes its prey. I'm helpless in the face of his hunger, and it's everything I need.
"Fuck me!... Fuck me!" I'm shocked to hear my own voice pleading with him. I keep pushing the wall each time he pushes into me, matching his rhythm. Working together. Two bodies joining perfectly in a dance as old as time.
Derek grunts and groans in my ear, a rutting bull. His breath is hot against my right cheek. His arms hold me, making me feel safe as he fucks me from behind. His White Cock uses my Korean pussy and we're both getting what we want.
His thrusts grow feverish, out of control.
A storm builds in my body.
One of his hands holds my belly firmly, holding me in place to meet his thrusts, the other paws at my blouse, tearing it open, groping for my breasts.
Oh my god. I lose it.
He roars and I whine. He holds my body to his as he explodes inside me. My hips twitch and quiver with each throbbing spurt. I whimper and cry out. Lightning and thunder. Clouds and rain. The pleasure of my own climax overwhelms me.
He's still inside me, his arms are still wrapped around my body and holding my breasts by the time I can start to think again.
"No," I pant. I can't catch my breath, but he's trying to summon the strength to pull out of me. "Not yet."
I feel so connected. So useful and complete. I could stay here for hours, my hands against the wall, with Derek inside me.
A minute. Two minutes. Maybe five minutes later, his legs wobble and he has to pull out and sit down on the purple throne. I feel the head of his dick sliding from me and my spine tingles.
When he's out, I collapse onto the floor at his feet, holding onto his leg like a well-fucked concubine.
"I needed that," I gasp when I can breathe again.
"Ughn," Derek groans. His head rolls back. One leg twitches. It has to be love.
"I have to get cleaned up," I tell him, gathering my panties from the corner. I don't remember dropping them. "You probably want to, too."
He comes out of his torpor. "Can I see you again? I heard a lot of the girls live in the neighborhood. Do you?"
"No," I say without thinking. "I'm a student. I'm only a junior."
His face pales and his eyes widen. "At the college, right?"
I laugh a little breathlessly. I recognize that expression. I've seen it before on guys' faces. I know what they're thinking. "Yes, I'm a junior..." I draw out his suspense. "at Iguthu Lake University."
He relaxes. "You don't have anything to do with the Bellesfield Girls, do you? My boss has talked about their sorority parties."
"I'm one of them," I say. I can feel his cum starting to slide out of my pussy and down my inner thighs. I need to get to the shower. "Maybe I'll see you at our Lunar New Year's Party. It's our biggest party of the year. But I need to go now."
We part ways without touching, he's still slumped where he sits as I walk out of the room, but I know my first night at the Red Lantern is far from over.
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