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The Cum Catcher

123

This story is inspired by "How I Took a Japanese Mistress" by swollenbell.

*****

Gently, the pads of my fingertips pushed on the white paint of the door. Quietly, it opened two inches. Stealthily, I pulled my face and hand into the shadow of the hallway to avoid any light falling on me to reveal myself. Not matter how involved the people in the room were, peering in, there was always the worry that any sound may give one away. Sophia had left the door ajar, so that I didn't have to push the handle down and make a noise. My little push may have been just the wind moving the door.

Aika was sitting on the bed, a simple, functional one that we had bought at IKEA. The bedding was crisp and shiny. The store smell of new fabric was still on it. She was short, 5' 2". She wasn't fat at all, but stocky. It gave her body a strong, sturdy impression. Her palms were wide, yet the fingers short, a bit like a mole with its strong digging hands. She wore a page haircut with thick strands of hair. Her face had a roundness and lack of expression to it. The lips were narrow yet full, cherry blossom pink. Her eye opening was small and roundish, yet her iris was large and dark. She wore what was reminiscent of a sailor uniform, a white blouse and a black skirt. It wasn't sexual at all but more the formal uniform of a common worker. The skirt had heavy fabric and went down to her knees. She sat politely with her knees together and the spine erect.

Sophia was kneeling on the floor with her hands inside of Aika's black-and-white checkered suitcase. The flight tag HND to JFK was still on the handle. Japanese culture is very polite and service oriented. Japanese girlfriends had often started cleaning my apartment and doing laundry on their own. That's why Aika seemed unfazed that Sophia was lifting pieces out of Aika's suitcase and putting it into the wall closet, the only other furniture beside the bed. We hadn't had a lot of time to prepare for the arrival of our au pair.

The suitcase was lightly packed for a yearlong stay in America. To be precisely, we were living in Queens so far out that it might as well be called Long Island. Being that remote afforded us to have a nice house with two stories and a spare room for an au pair. Sophia neatly stacked the uni-color t-shirts, pants, and skirts neatly into the closet. When she got to the underwear, she held up the white cotton grandma things up into the air, so that the golden evening light of the window would illuminate them. She held them in my direction and for a moment broke the focus of her facial expression to give me a contemptuous look with her lips and eyes. In my head, I could hear her words: "Why are you so obsessed with chinks? Black women are real women."

"That's Mr. Potato head," exclaimed the quiet Aika, making a sound for the first time. Her voice was girlish, soft, and high. She had a broad grin on her face. A sense of absolute adorableness hushed over her. The pride rose in her eyes.

Sophia held up a stuffed brown sphere with a face on it that had an especially large red nose. Sophia laughed nervously like what she had discovered was beyond what she had expected. Her throat involuntarily burst tik-tik-tik noises. The white teeth were gleaming white on her black face. "Girl, when I was your age, I slept with a machete under my pillow."

"Uh," Aika made that roaring, guttural noise Japanese sometimes make and draw out at length. "Were you a warrior?" she asked modestly and earnestly.

"You can say that! Black power!" exclaimed Sophia. Sophia's hair had been smoothed with a straightening iron. She was wearing bright red lipstick and makeup that made her face looks smooth and young, a bit like a porn star, not the stereotypical look but the look of actual high end porn stars who look extremely attractive, fresh, and sexy. Big, golden ear rings finished her look. She was wearing a tight black skirt and five inch high black heels, even in the house, because she compensated for her short height, 5' 2". The black blouse was unbuttoned almost down to her belly button to expose her midline and the gold ornaments on her push up bra.

The suitcase was almost empty when Sophia made a fake surprise face, an over exaggerated O with her mouth. Sophia held up a white pocket rocket high in the air. Aika blushed, looked at her knees, and rubbed her hands on her thighs to dissipate the embarrassment. "You bad, little girl," teased Sophia. Sophia turned the vibrator on to send the buzzing sound through the room and watch AIka squirm even more. Sophia was good at testing and pushing boundaries. It gave her a fierceness. Aika didn't protest. The embarrassment only sent her deeper into her head. So, Sophia proceeded to smell the pocket rocket. Aika lowered her head and hid her face, yet couldn't detach her eyes from watching Sophia. Sophia amped up the tension and held the vibrator against her cheek to feel the vibration. "So gentle! You are so innocent, Aika!" Sophia playfully pushed Aika's thighs to feel her body tension and see if Aika would move away. Aika's body was completely tensed, yet she didn't move away.

In psychology, it's called learned helplessness. In the sixties and seventies, psychology researchers performed experiments on dogs. They'd shock dogs inside of their cages without a chance of escape. The dogs would eventually give up and resign to endure the shocks. When the researchers opened the cage doors, the dogs didn't even try to escape anymore. They had given up. They had believed themselves to be helpless.

Aika had failed or passed the test based on your opinion. Her life experience had taught her that she had to endure boundary crossing. A healthier response would have been to take action to stop Sophia or to take action to get away from the situation, the classical fight-or-flight-response. Though, Aika didn't believe either option to be available to her. It's actually quite common no matter how dramatic it sounds. Anybody has experienced unwanted behavior from a boss, yet depended for economic reasons on keeping the job. An acquired skill is to speak up in these situations and know how to skillfully influence the boss. Though, not everyone is born with Winston Churchill's' diplomatic skills.

Why do I know so well? Sophia wasn't my choice. She was cute. I had flirted back when I met her. Yet, she had been the one who asked for my number. She had been the one who had initiated us meeting up. I surely had found her attractive. Though, I wouldn't have wanted to date her. There is a brashness about her that I feel disrespectful. I don't like her angry side. Though, when she had blurted out, "I have to see your dick," I had of course smitten and unwrapped it for her. I had loved her mouth instantly wrapping around it. I hadn't even realize how quickly she had been to put her pussy over my dick. Suddenly, I had felt her wet insides all around my dick.

"Hey, we gotta put on a condom," I had protested.

"No, it feels better like that," she had snapped at me in a tone of voice that wouldn't permit argument.

"Are you on the pill?" I had asked worried.

"Shut up!" she had yelled at me.

"Hey, this is serious," I had complained with alarming worry.

"Just hold it in and be a man. Shut up!" she had yelled back at me.

I had been quiet for a bit, not sure what to say. Her body had snaked against my chest and belly. Her pussy had been slipping over my dick. Without the condom, I could feel her inner anatomy vividly like HD, I could feel every detail. Her wetness had been like PhotoShop and made everything feel amazing. My brain had melting into bliss from the sensation.

"Hey, the withdrawal method is not safe! Let's put on a condom," I had brought it up again.

Now, she was seriously mad. She had let out her anger by fucking me harder. Her hips had slammed down on me, "Hold it in!"

Like a little boy who peed his pants, I had tried to hide it as best as I could. I had squeezed my perineum to let the cum dribble out slowly, so that she may not have realized that I had been coming inside of her. Though, just as it's a fool's errand for the boy to hide the big dark stain on the pants, so had it been for me to hide her most sensitive womb filling with spurts of my jizz.

"Fuck! Why did you come?" she had complained. "I told you not to. Now that you did, you are still going to finish me. Stay hard!"

Her eyes had been mad like spitfire. I had resigned. In my head, I had thought we'd get Plan B right away. She had instead put my hands on her black ass, so that I would feel her butt twerking while she was riding me hard. When I had been starting to soften, she had bark-moaned at me, "Stick your finger in it!" That had caused an explosion in my head. I had flipped her over and ravaged her body.

That's how she had gotten pregnant and we had ended up in a relationship despite my reservations about her. So, I do know a thing or two about learned helplessness.

Sophia put the pocket rocket into the closet as well. Like a dark cloud that had passed, the room felt light again. Aika smiled and pointed at the ceiling above her bed. There was a willow hoop with a knitted net inside and a couple feathers hanging from it.

"That's a dreamcatcher," explained Sophia. "The Native Americans have used it. It catches all your dreams. Every morning, I'll come and take away the bed dreams and give you the good ones back."

"Uhh," responded Sophia with an appreciative deep, guttural roar.

"What is your life dream, my dear Aika-chan?" asked Sophia using the cozy address of chan.

"I want to have children and be a wife," responded Aika with big, open puppy eyes looking up at Sophia who was standing on her high heels.

"Good," said Sophia, a little too gravely. "That's why we hired you," she added with an omnious tone. "Now, go to sleep. You must be tired from the long trip."

"Oh, yes, I am," said Aika sweetly appreciating that her comfort was looked after.

I stepped away softly from the door, my bare feet slowly denting the carpet as I withdrew. Sophia quickly followed. We pulled into my study. I could feel the storm brewing and about to explode.

"Why do you love bucket heads so much? She's a stupid dummy!" Sophia was fuming. She had put on a nice façade, while her inner anger had been stewing. I feel bad about it. I'm just not so turned on by Sophia. I don't say anything, but she knows it. When I only hint at liking Asian bodies, Sophia explodes because that little hint may be little, little like a fuse for a giant bomb. Sophia loves me so much. She'll caress my body and her eyes melt. Yet, I can't help my own attraction, which, as attractive as she is, is not with her. Sophia is rugged. Rather than pushing any Asian away, she had invited the Japanese au pair to watch after our baby. She had calculated that by giving me what I desire, she'd tie me to her even more.

There was little arguing with her. Any explanations of why Japanese bodies, voices, and attitudes drive me bat shit would have only fueled her rage even more. So, I was silent. We had a baby together. Some things only crawl out in haunted looks.

"Did you have a boner when I gave you that little show? Tell me!" she egged on.

"Did you see those panties? Who wears that? And that tiny little vibrator? C'mon, not even my church sister is that inhibited!" Sophia raged on. "I just want you to fuck me now."

I always liked that conclusion. It meant that I could stop raking my brain on figuring out what was going on and what to say.

Sophia and I had met in a non-traditional way. I'm a lawyer for traders on Wall Street. Usually, trades clear just fine. Though, every once in a while, a stock tanks tremendously. Then, I'm called in to find a loophole, some kind of bureaucratic detail that was missed to undo the trade. Sometimes, another firm tries to pull that on us. Most of the time, there is nothing to be done because the trading systems are automated. Though, once or twice a year, I manage to unwind a bad deal and save my firm millions of dollars. Last time, a trading partner's batch processing system had executed batches in the wrong order. So, they technically shouldn't have received a confirmation signal from our mainframe. Without the confirmation, their system should have retried, but it didn't. Our IT system was sophisticated enough to automatically patch the problem. However, they didn't know that. They wouldn't get prove of it. After a couple months of negotiation, the other lawyer gave up and wrote us a check for half the losses.

One day, this black trader started showing up in my office for breaks and to shoot the shit. I don't know why he picked me. He always wandered in with an attitude like we had been friends for a long time. I'm a bit socially awkward and kind of liked having a big talking expressive friend. At least, one of us was a cool kid. He'd come in Monday mornings and ask me with a booming voice and one in a million smile, "Whom did you bang balls deep this weekend?" The office door was wide open with the office admins in the pit outside. He's the only friend who would use the phrase "balls deep." I kind of like it. Yet, I'm too blush to mention it myself.

One day, he closed the office door and looked at me with a worried face. I got very worried. He's never been quiet. I thought something bad had happened, like he had HIV or had just gotten fired. I had already missed him. There was something emotional in me that got touched by the attention he gave me. He brought an excitement that I yearned for.

"Hey mate," he addressed me in a serious tone, "just between me and you, you are good looking. You are rich as fuck. You are well educated. Why don't you get any girls?"

I sighed in relief. Our relationship had simply progressed to a deeper level. He was earnestly interested in me. He looked at me with those eyes that a dad uses to look at his kid when it is hurt on the sidelines of a game. The dad knows that the kid won't be able to play the rest of the game and simply needs to be doctored up.

"See, the thing is that I have all those things: looks, education, and an okay salary for a Wall Street lawyer. Though, I can't exactly make a billboard with that and women will throw themselves at my feet," I explained to him about how society works.

"Man, that's white women. White women are all stuck up. It comes from the whole protestant culture of making joy evil. If you walk into my hood and show some bling, black girls will be throwing themselves at you. They are not hung up. They know that a successful man is better than a loser. They are not hung up about sex. They know that sex is amazing. If you give a white woman the chance to fuck a stud, she'll blog about how much she got harassed and degraded. A black woman, on the other hand, will be like fuck yeah, I'm gonna ride that thing and have the time of my life! There are no cultural hang ups. Sex feels good. We do things that feel good. It's as simple as that," Sean tapped me on the shoulder with warm encouragement.

"Sean, I appreciate your support. But women have been suppressed by men for so long. If you were raped every year and constantly felt up, you would see things differently as well," I tried to reason with Sean.

"Mate, they aren't helpless. They don't need you to rescue them. That's a horribly patriarchal view. Women are strong and smart," Sean talked to me sternly. He had a fucking point. I couldn't get my thoughts straight. Those SEC filings were still on my mind.

Sean continued, "You know what, I'm gonna take you to my hood tomorrow for lunch and show you. I want you to wear that Armani suit from the holiday party and rent a Maserati from the boutique rental company downstairs. Don't eat breakfast. You'll want lots of space for Mac Daddy's Chili." With that, he knocked on my desk and walked out like it was a done deal.

I did dress up the next day in that Armani suit. It's a completely black suit. It cost about $6,000. I had only worn it to the holiday party because I was worried about damaging it. Using it to eat chili was the most ridiculous idea. Though, the idea of getting some poon tang was such a special proposition to me that I threw all caution to the wind. The concierge downstairs handed me the keys to the Maserati. I had already seen it stand outside the building behind a velvet rope guarded by a security officer with a suite and black sunglasses. The body of the Maserati was gleaming in the sunlight. The reflection of the buildings and pedestrians passing was clear in the reflection of the waxed paint. My heart was pounding a little bit. I didn't have to focus very hard at work. Mostly I checked mundane paperwork that was spotless. That once or twice a year mistake was unlikely to happen today. I only had to stare at a page long enough to appear to be working. I had even bought a new pack of condoms. Only after I checked the current packs, I had realized that the condoms had expired three years ago.

Sean bust into my office five minutes early. His face looked excited. Out of exuberance, he hugged me and grabbed both of my butt cheeks with a full on grab. "We are gonna get that ass some action today," he grunted into my ear. As we walked out of the office and past the admin pit, I saw one of them in the corner of my eyes making an ass grabbing motion to another one. There were snickering sounds behind us. That was probably the first time that the admin selected for their stunning physique had considered me in a sexual context. I guess that goes into the win column.

We strode in lockstep through the lobby to the waiting Maserati. There was a surge of strength the way we walked, like a force that moved people out of the way. Sean turned into the older brother that I never had.

The Maserati had a surge of a powerful sound when the ignition key turned. There were all these LED lights elegantly lighting up controls and accent highlights. I wasn't sure what I had stepped into. Everything was so polished. I felt bad about leaving finger prints on anything. That's why people were gloves when driving. No stop, they wear gloves for performance reasons or because it's cold. My head got flustered. The street was packed with banged up yellow cabbies and pipes relieving steam out of the underground. Bike messengers were shooting in between traffic. I had to turn on the indicator and get that precious baby into that mess! The security officer with the tie and leather gloves tapped his hat and walked away.

Sean gave me directions. We drove deeply into Brooklyn. We left the gentrified parts of Brooklyn. The street turned into a torn up Third World rode. The shop signs turned from expensive designs to cardboard paper with hand written specials. The land of bodegas opened up. Leggings that couldn't have cost more than 10 cents to manufacture were hanging in front of the store. People dressed increasingly simple. A lot of them were simply wearing white t-shirts and JC Penny jeans. The graffiti and empty yards with weeds started. A plethora of mechanics crowded the store fronts. Junked cars without tires and windshield were stockpiled in front of the mechanics. A fallen down light post had simply yellow caution tape wrapped around it by public works instead of gotten a replacement.

The silent trepidation about the destination was harshly interrupted by the horn of the Maserati. Sean had reached across the steering wheel and pushed down on the horn. I pushed his hands away. My head was red with blood of embarrassment. "You don't honk for no reason," I explained to him. "That's cause for citation!"

"We've got a reason. We want the ladies to know that you have arrived!" explained Sean with a smile and ease that confused me.

"Yeah, no, are you crazy? We'll be like a thug magnet. I don't want to get carjacked her," I said and made sure that the lock was locked.

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