A Hard ANWO Truth Ch. 05

This story will make little sense unless you have read Chapters 1 -- 4 of A Hard ANWO Truth. I recommend that you read those chapters before reading Chapter 5.

The following is a work of adult fiction and contains content that may be offensive to some viewers. The content expressed herein does not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of its author. Any resemblance to real people or entities in unintended and coincidental. Please reach out through the site's *feedback* feature if you have any comments or suggestions. Enjoy!

*A Hard ANWO Truth.*

Chapter 5: Finale

With trembling hands, I turned over the sheets on the guest bed. John--my landlord, my boss, and my 'captor'--had ordered me to prepare and to warm the guest bed for Ken. Ken was John's guest, and John had politely 'offered' me to Ken in the same way that a host would 'offer' a guest to use any other piece of the host's property.

With perfectly manicured fingers, I slid the straps of my dress out along my shoulders. Since moving in with John, something about John's dominant presence had an effect on my testosterone output; my already bony frame had withered even further such that my shoulders and clavicle were quite passable as a woman's. Though form-fitting enough to be flattering on my delicate frame, the dress slid easily down my body.

As I slid off the dress, I only met resistance at my ass and hip. With Heather's yoga and conditioning, this was by far the widest part of my delicate silhouette. If John ever ordered me to get breast implants (an outcome I half expected at this point), my body would be indistinguishable from any of the many white girls in John's and Ken's orbit.

After my dress fell to the floor, I kicked off my Mary Jane-style house shoes, then worked to slide down my thigh-high socks. My perfectly smooth skin tingled against the white fabric. When those pieces were off, I nearly folded my entire outfit--which constituted very little total fabric--and tucked it away in a drawer. Standing in the guest room in naught but my white lacy panties, I expected that I would not be needing my full outfit for the rest of the evening.

Before Ken arrived, I took one last look at myself in the full length mirror. I knew what Ken was going to do to me when he joined me in bed. It therefore occurred to me that this would be my last look at myself before Ken 'broke me in,' or in a less crass euphemism, 'made me into a woman.' I spun around, looking at my form in the mirror.

After the strict diet that John had put me on, what little fat I previously carried had vanished. My back was perfectly smooth, and curved only when it reached my ass, which was by far the most muscular aspect of my form. My thighs were shapely but lean, leaving a nice little gap between my legs.

I squinted at my chest: were my nipples swollen? I touched them softly, feeling electric signals flow through my body. This was a new development; why did it look as though I were developing nascent breasts? I knew that something was going on with my hormones. Was Heather or John putting something in my food?

I smiled a bit when I admired my efforts at makeup. I already had a soft, heart-shaped face. So it wasn't difficult with a little contour and highlighting to make myself look like one of the beautiful young ingenues from the silent film era. But with my lipstick accentuating the fullness of my lips, rouge eyeshadow, and wavy blonde locks, I had the pleasant feeling that I was truly a gorgeous woman.

Gazing at myself in the mirror, the only clue that the figure I saw had been born 'male' was the pathetic little bump in the front of my panties. My hand wandered to the hard tip of my chastity cage. How long had it been since I had been unlocked? My sexual tension had put me on edge, making me further compliant to my Asian Master who held the key.

Heavy footsteps from the staircase interrupted my rumination. While my order to 'keep the bed warm' for Ken was a thinly veiled façade for my true 'task' for the evening, I did not want to be caught out of bed when Ken arrived. I made last touches to my hair and face and laid on the bed. I felt like toy under the Christmas tree, about to be unwrapped and used by the hands of a greedy male.

Ken knocked once then immediately opened the door. He seemed to be communicating that he was giving me some warning to prepare for him, but that he did not need permission to enter. He blithely stepped through the threshold, looking hungrily at my soft white figure on the bed.

I was laying sideways on top of the blanket when he entered. As his gaze took in my pale form, I wished that I had hid under the covers. I looked down, unable to meet his gaze. Unconsciously, I made myself small before him. My shoulders narrowed, my head bowed, my knees came up to my chest. I felt like a small animal withdrawing from an approaching predator.

My predator crossed the room in two casual strides. He sat gently on the edge of the bed. By contrast to the soft indent made by my weak little figure, Ken's dense frame sunk into the mattress. He reached a large hand out and rested it on my thigh.

That familiar electric feeling coursed through my body. Both Ken and I knew what was going to happen next. I was a blonde, white plaything for Ken's amusement. Ken would take that plaything that was offered to him, and I would have zero say in the matter. And we both knew that this plaything would offer no resistance.

Ken scooted further onto the bed and wrapped his big hand under my thigh. With one smooth motion, he pulled me toward him and onto his lap. I knew that Ken was physically stronger than me; I did not know that he would lift me up and move me with such ease. As my helplessness continued to sink in, I felt a familiar flutter in my stomach.

With my ass securely on his lap, Ken pulled me closer to him. As my ass backed into him, I suddenly felt something very large and very hard poking into me. Even through the thick fabric of his expensive slacks, its firmness made an indent into my exposed skin.

With one hand still under my thigh, Ken used his other hand to brush back my hair. I could feel his warm breath on my neck taking on my scent as he then used both hands to guide my thighs outward.

I resisted at first, straining against the strength of his hands. Ken chuckled softly and pressed his lips against my ear.

"Now now," he spoke, "Don't be like that. Be a good girl and do as you're told."

My resistance vanished. Perhaps it was Pavlovian conditioning to obey him at the sound of "good girl." Or perhaps I was caught up in the pleasure of my own submission. But my legs opened, giving Ken access to me. His hands traveled up my thighs, pulling me closer to him.

"I've wanted to do this for a long time," Ken whispered with his lips still against my ear. "I knew what you are from the moment I met you."

I gulped. I knew what he meant, even before he clarified. And his acknowledgement that he 'wanted' me gave me a feeling that I was unfamiliar with.

"What you are," Ken continued as he effortlessly spun my body around to face him, "Is white girl. And what do white girls do?"

I did not know whether his question was rhetorical. Indeed, with his face inches from mine and his massive member imposing itself against me, I could barely think straight.

Ken lifted me up, brining my face closer to his. I felt as if I were a small marionette, and that Ken was holding my strings.

Ken spoke softly, and slowly, letting each word sink in: "White girls serve Asian Men."

Ken then pressed his face into mine. As our lips locked, my body went soft and sunk into Ken's embrace. His hand wrapped around my lower back, pulling me closer to him. Seemingly involuntarily, I swung my arms around his neck and pressed myself back into him.

A cocktail of emotions flooded through me. I wanted Ken, and I knew that he wanted me back. As his lips explored mine, and as his tongue probed into my mouth, caressing my lips and tongue, the electric feeling in my body intensified. I loved the feeling of Ken's authority over me. I loved the way that he easily controlled my movements. I loved his power over me. And I wanted more of it.

After several moments with our lips locked, Ken tilted his head back and began to slide me off of his lap. I knew exactly what to do next.

As I slid from Ken's lap, I kneeled in front of Ken. Being on my knees at Ken's feet seemed like the most natural position for me to be in at that moment. It was more than a sign of respect. It was more than a symbol of my obedience. Ken had assumed the position of a conqueror, and the delicate white body kneeling at his feet was the spoils of his conquest.

At my eye level, I could see that imposing mass growing in Ken's pants. His expensive pinstriped suit did nothing to hide his impressive size. I had secretly wondered what it looked like. In those quiet moments alone in my bed after taking his orders and spending all those hours at his beck and call, I had wondered about that source of his authority over me.

Ken wrapped his fingers through my hair, holding my head in place. His big hand traveled to his zipper. I gulped.

Out from Ken's pants sprung that thing I had secretly longed for. That impressive testament to Asian manhood loomed above me, pointing out and upward above my head. My eyes wandered up and down the shaft, focusing on its head, and then back down again. I carefully studied every vein. I inhaled deeply.

Unconsciously, my lips parted and I leaned forward. My mouth watered. My breath caught. I knew what Ken was going to make me do. He would meet no resistance. I was face-to-face with Ken's manhood. This monument was (ultimately) the source of Ken's authority over me. That hard ANWO truth--in its most tangible form--loomed before me.

Slowly, Ken pulled my head toward his cock. But rather than plunging it into my mouth, he moved my nose and lips from its base, gradually up the shaft until I was practically kissing the tip. He repeated this several times, teasing me with each vein and ridge.

In the past, most porn I had watched involved a white guy topping a white girl. In those videos, the white guy just presented his cock to the girl, who had to get down and do all of the work. But Ken's approach was a stark contrast, and at testament to the difference between western and eastern masculinity. While Ken's demeanor made it clear that he was in charge, he was not passively sitting back expecting his bitch to do the work. No, Ken knew specifically what he wanted to happen, and with his powerful hand guided me to fulfill his wants.

The way Ken wielded his powerful hand guided reminded me of my Asian bosses at work. While they were never unkind, the structure they created was specific and precise: everything expected of me was measured down to the way I poured tea to the way I bowed to present it to the way I spoke. Every movement was planned, measured, and subscribed.

Likewise, Ken carefully and precisely manipulated my head along his cock, before finally pulling my face upward such that the head was against my lips. I obeyed his nonverbal command, and parted my lips. A gentle moan escaped me as I felt the head of his cock between my full lips.

Guided by Ken's hand, my lips traveled up and down the his tip. Without thinking, I pressed my tongue against the base of his cock, and slowly worked my tongue against it. Truthfully, this wasn't even some trick to increase his pleasure; I just wanted to know how it tasted.

A low moan rumbled through Ken's body. He clearly enjoyed the sensation. As I bobbed my head up and down, Ken's grip tightened on my head. His fingers tensed, and his hand began increasing my pace.

My jaw was getting tired. And the deeper that Ken pushed himself into me, the harder it was to control my gagging. Indeed, with his massive shaft in my mouth, I had to carefully time my breath against Ken pulling my head back. Ken soon had enough.

"I want to fuck you." Ken's voice was cool and presumptive. He didn't ask. He didn't even tell me to do anything, per se. He simply stated his wish.

Before I could respond, Ken stood squatted down, wrapped his arms under my ass and torso, and lifted me onto the bed. I was surprised by the ease with which he lifted me up. Had I really lost so much mass that Ken could pick me up like that? Or was he just that strong?

Ken gently laid me on the bed, then rotated me such that my legs were sticking over the edge of the bed and Ken was standing between them. Ken bent down, grabbed the top of my dress, and ripped it downward with one smooth motion. Before I could react, his mouth was around my nipple.

A soft, high-pitched moan escaped my lips. Ken expertly manipulated his tongue around my areola, sending shivers through my body. Unconsciously, I wrapped my legs around his torso, pulling myself closer to him.

As I did so, I could felt Ken's manhood pushing against my dress. Ken stood up, lifted the hem of my dress, revealing my caged little member.

"Quite the contrast, isn't it?" Ken chuckled, holding his massive member against my caged clitty.

He was correct. The difference was stark and unarguable: Ken's manhood, both massive and free, towered over my encapsulated member. Indeed, Ken's still shone with my saliva. I gazed at the monument to Ken's conquest.

Ken's cock towered above my locked member like a conquering emperor with a chained thrall at his feet. Symbolically, Ken looked like one of those antiquated movie posters of a hero standing erect and proud, with his love interest on her knees wrapped around his leg. The contrast between us couldn't be more stark.

Ken lifted my legs high into the air, turning me nearly vertical and exposing my ass. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ken squeezing a bottle of something into his hand. I then felt his big, warm hand on my ass. He was rubbing something smooth and tingly around my hole. Was that lube? And why did it make me feel so soft and tingly?

I then felt his finger probing inside of me, rubbing the rim of my hole, then pressing in and out. I yelped at the intrusion with the most pathetic, high-pitched chirp. Ken chuckled as he lowered my legs.

Ken gazed directly into my eyes as he maneuvered his cock under my ass. He pulled me closer such that my legs were wrapped around him. It occurred to me that he was about to fuck me in missionary position and that he would be looking into my eyes as he did so.

Ken wrapped his hand around my cheek, pulling it to position the head of his cock against my hole. Even with the lube, I thought that there would be no way that his massive member would fit. As his cock found its mark, he pressed it against me, then looked back at my face. I turned my gaze downward in submission. I was about to be conquered in the most intimate way by this superior Asian man, and I did not want to look my captor in the eyes.

Ken reached out his powerful hand and grasped my chin. He then guided my face upward and pointed my gaze back at his. He smiled gently.

"This is it, Alex," Ken's voice was low and smooth like a late-night radio host. "I've seen this story many times. Once a white boy like you submits this deeply to an Asian man, it changes you."

I nodded. I felt like my experience with working at the firm had *already* changed me. I had gone from an unemployed and housing-insecure loser of a white boy to a doting secretary and housemaid for a dominant Asian man. My life was much more orderly and organized. I had much more direction.

And further, I had already noted changes in my personality: something had changed in my psyche that made it nigh impossible for me to disobey a command given by an Asian man. I no longer dreamt of pursuing women; indeed, I saw the women in my life as sisters (or competition), rather than objects of desire. Likewise, my sexual fantasies had all but completely shifted toward a desire to serve Asian men. What possibly could Ken be talking about, then? How much deeper could my submission go? Had I not already kneeled before this man and taken his member between my lips?

I understood when Ken pressed himself forward.

The feelings that arose within me are difficult to articulate to someone who hasn't been penetrated by a man. I experienced a vulnerability and an exposure to him that I had never felt to another human. His member--his massive, veiny, and masculine member--pressed itself inside me slowly and gently.

Ken's cock presented a fascinating paradox: its head was soft and gentle, perfectly shaped to push its way inside. But behind that gentleness was an unyielding firmness: if Ken chose for it to go inside of me, it was going in, regardless of what I had to say. In a way, this gentlemanly face to an unyielding and dominant structure was exemplary of Ken himself.

Ken tightened his grip on my chin and pointed my gaze toward his. He was forcing me to make eye contact while he penetrated me. In this context, his familiar cocky grin took on an entirely new context. Indeed, I knew that I would never be able to see that grin without remembering the moment that Ken fully conquered me.

Ken gently rocked his hips back, and then forward, pushing himself deeper inside of me. My eyes widened, my lips parted, and a breathless sign escaped my lips. Ken was so incredibly big.

Once again Ken rocked his hips back, and forward a little more. His cock penetrated me deeper still. My perfectly plucked eyebrows furrowed. My lipstick-stained lips parted further. My blue eyes, framed so perfectly in their eyeliner and mascara, rolled backward in my head.

This moment was a microcosm of Asian dominance. Ken could have--at any moment and with no posible resistance from me--thrust himself forward and plunged himself into me. Ken had the power to do this and my soft, white-boy pussy could have done nothing to stop this. But this is not what Ken did: Ken instead rocked back and forth, slowly but relentlessly pushing more of himself into me. As always, Ken was a gentleman who took care of his property. But I had no say in the matter. Ken was going to fuck me with his entire cock.

As Ken continued fucking me more deeply, his prognosis was proven correct. This moment was changing me. I could never go back to the moment before I lost my virginity to a dominant Asian Man. I could never go back to the moment before my body was taken and used in that most intimate way.

I returned Ken's gaze. His grin deepened as his deep mahogany eyes penetrated my soft blue eyes. My blue eyes then rolled back again as he pushed deeper.

This moment continued for what seemed concurrently like a single moment and an eternity. It was such a perspective changing experience to feel so much pleasure, but with its length and its rhythm at the absolute discretion of another.

Eventually, I felt a strange sensation between my hips. I felt warm in my groin, and that warmth grew and expanded through my navel and up my tummy. Then those familiar electric sensations lit up my world. Through my cage, I felt several pathetic squirts leaking from my constrained dick. My muscles contracted and my mouth hung far open--was this how it felt to orgasm as a woman?

I had little time to process these thoughts as Ken gripped my hips and picked up his pace. I could feel his cock pulsating as he exhaled sharply. My insides suddenly felt even warmer--Ken was cumming deeply inside of me.

For several moments, Ken and I laid together. He wrapped his arms around me and I nuzzled myself into him. He had claimed me in the most intimate way. He would always be my first.

**EPILOGUE**

**ONE YEAR LATER**

I held the wok in one hand and the stirring stick in the other. I was making tteokbokki, Ken's favorite dish. Ken's blue eyed, blond haired and very pregnant wife was in the dining room preparing the table.

I gasped as a little bit of sauce splattered onto my tits. I was wearing nothing but my cage, an apron, and a smile, so I was quite exposed to little mishaps like this. Indeed, after Ken had brought me in for breast augmentation and put me on a more serious daily dose of HRT, my body was developing in ways that made me even less coordinated and subject to such messes.

When the meal was done, Ken's wife came in and fixed Ken's plate. I scampered into the living room where Ken was watching television.

"Your dinner is ready, Sir," I spoke meekly in my soft little voice. Thanks to some "enhancements" from Ken's preferred gender affirmation surgeon, I would never again sing any deeper than soprano.

"Good girl," Ken smiled his wicked grin. Without fail, this phrase brought butterflies to my stomach. Without touching the remote, Ken snapped his fingers and pointed to the ground in front of him.

"I can't let my white boy go without *his* dinner, now can I?" I bristled at Ken's condescension. But he knew how much that turned me on.

I obeyed quickly, kneeling in front of him. Ken didn't bother to turn off the tv as he unzipped his trousers and released his massive, pendulous cock. But why should he? As the only Man of the house, he certainly wore the pants. And this white boy exists only to please Him.

**THE END**