My Orean Hottie

Plaintively, I said, "Boh, you've been here for four days, and you're still naked. Don't you want to get dressed and go out?"

"Why?" she answered, sprawled on my couch, one leg on the floor and the other flopped up against the back, which posture made it very obvious that she'd enjoyed my cock inside her a short time ago, since her labia were swollen and red. Not to mention a drop or two of semen still oozing from her lovely Korean twat.

"I got the whole house, and the garden to roll around in, and show off to you, while you get hard, over and over. Why do I wanna go out? Den I gotta get dressed, and I don't have any clothes at all, and dat means I'm ready for you alla time... like right now."

Still naked myself (why get dressed when I'd be stripped and forced to fuck in a couple of hours... or minutes), I started for my Asian Korean girlfriend, cloth tape-measure in hand. "OK, little slut, I'm going to get your measurements for jeans and a shirt, at least."

"Oh, no, you don't," she said, slithering off the couch and running around behind it, "I wanna be naked and fuck you alla time." I grabbed for her, but she ducked and grabbed for the stripper pole in the center of the living room, swinging around it with bouncing boobs.

I cornered her in the kitchen, and got a waist measurement, but she got away, after sucking on my dick for about 30-seconds, leaving me hard again. Now I was a naked man, chasing a 4' 9" bundle of slutty energy, and with a huge cock swinging from side-to-side and up-and-down. Ridiculous!

Boh scrambled between my legs, and I had to corner her again, in the bathroom, to get a neck measurement... and to nuzzle her neck, while she screamed in pleasure.

She got loose, mostly by stroking my cock for about eight seconds, and I had to intercept her swinging around the pole again, to get a crotch to ankle measurement. And to get a minute of frantic sucking, with lots of tongue, while she fingered herself.

I finally pinned her on the patio floor and got a bent arm measurement, before I entered her drooling twat with my maddened, hard cock, and fucking her for as long as I could, cumming again deep inside her lovely body. 248 more cums needed.

This time, I left her asleep on the floor, while I searched on-line for adult clothes. I had to get jumpers from the young adult and the children's section, because she was so tiny. I finally decided that the 'little black dress' that she just had to have (my judgment) would have to be made from scratch by a seamstress/dressmaker. So I ordered all this on-line. I specified the 'little black dress' to be scandalous, with a front zipper, and fully lined (so no panties or bra needed). I got a price so low, I just screamed a little. The rest of the things were to be sent FedEx, for next-day delivery.

When Boh woke up, and we got her back into the shower and cleaned up (again), she pretended to be mad, but what girl, from any ethnic background, really doesn't want to look pretty in new clothes. "Besides," I said, "we have to get you dressed, so I can get you over to a custom bikini store in Pacific Beach. They've got stuff that makes a Wicked Weasel bikini look conservative. And you might want to get a second one, in case you actually want to get in the water, too."

Relaxing again on the patio chairs, outside, I asked a question that had been on my mind for a while.

"Boh, how come you were really starving when we first met. As stingy as your Dad and Granddad were, they couldn't have let you really starve, or you'd be just skin-and-bones when they forced you to marry. What happened to your money that you needed to keep eating?"

She got serious, suddenly, but then grinned, again, just a little weakly. She said, "You gonna laugh. I know you gonna laugh. Den I get mad, and we not have sex for, oh, maybe a couple of hours."

"I promise not to laugh," I said instantly.

"Well, Hookay, but you gonna laugh anyway. I spend my eating money on a book. I had to order it, and it's probably ready for pick-up now. It cost a lot more than I expect. I try to borrow from roommates, but they just reported me to Dad, and he probably told them not to, that it be good punishment for me. So I starve, and den you find me, and now..." She didn't finish, but grinned and grabbed me around the chest, boobs pressed into my chest.

"OK, what book was so important?"

In a tiny voice, she said, "Handbook of Mathematics."

Then, after a couple of seconds, she giggled and said, "You really have to watch out for those bugs getting into your mouth."

I snapped my mouth shut, as she added, "I order Handbook of Mathematics. I already have text on Analytic Geometry and Elements of Calculus. But I loose these books when 'roommates' tear up all my things and throw away. In school, at home in Korea, I whiz through algebra and geometry, but den Dad and Grand-Dad take me out of dat school, and put me in special school, where I 'learned' flower arranging and water painting and 'how to speak softly to my master'... dumb stuff like that. When I come here, dey make me take classes in 'basket weaving,' 'Asian art appreciation,' and 'pottery'. Useless stuff."

"So," she continued, "I use school library, but dey don't have enough new math books. I sneak money out of account and buy books on mathematics. But den dey find out, I starve and now all my books and notes are gone, and I got no money..."

I stopped her in mid-sentence, with a finger to her lips. She grinned and looked down, hoping that I could use another member to put up to her lips, but I was a fucked-out, limp lover. She pouted, but then grinned.

Wonderingly, I said, "It looks like I have a Asian-Korean mathematician-sex-slut on my hands. OK, little girl, when the clothes arrive, let's go get your book. And while we're at it, let's replace all the ones you lost. And then we'll get all the ones you really wanted to get but just couldn't afford. Then, we'll dig up some advanced math tutors at one of the universities around her, just not the one you left. OK?"

Boh's eyes got wide, and utterly lovely, and she said, "Really? No kidding?"

"Why," I asked, "would I kid about something as important as what my lovely girlfriend really wants? Oh, and next, you have to have a computer of your own, and on-line access. All sorts of stuff."

She said, "You really didn't laugh." Abruptly, the waterworks turned on, full force. She cried and sobbed for several minutes. Then stopped, blew her nose, hugged me nudely, and dropped asleep on the couch within seconds. I covered her with a light throw, then started to order stuff for her to wear, so we could go shopping for books and supplies suitable for a beginning mathematician.

Just 238 more cums to go.

Covertly, I watched my Korean girlfriend, Boh Park concentrate on her text book. She was digging into Elements of Non-Linear Statistical Analysis, by some Russian guy, Kolmagorov. She was working entirely in the buff, gloriously naked, and her boobs were swinging with her body sway, as she mumbled through a set of problems.

Without any warning, she marked her place in the book, closed it, got up, stretched and purred, and swayed over to me, plopping down on the couch where I was reading.

"What's a suh-lut?" she asked.

"What?" I asked. "Spell it, Boh."

"S-L-U-T. Suh-lut. So hard to say," she answered.

"That's quite a leap, from advanced non-linear math to slut." I said with a big grin.

She punched me in the arm, then cuddled nudely into my flank, and deliberately placed my right hand on her boob, fingers around the hardening nipple.

Seriously, she said, "I remember Dad and Granddad, and dey say 'whore' and 'prostitute.' But I know I not any of dat. I never take money for sex. Love to give it to my man. Love to show off. Love to be felt out. Love to be naked and feel all safe and ready for sex." She placed my other hand of her other boob and nipple.

"But," she went on, "I can't figure out suh-lut. Damn, hard for me to say, spell S-L-U-T. Dictionary not much help. It say things like: Slut — 1: a slovenly woman: slattern 2a: a lewd woman; esp: prostitute b: a saucy girl: minx.

So I know sex in dere, but it doesn't help me much. Definitions lead me round and round, each one refer to the other. And den, when you get real hard, just before you cum in me, sometimes you call me a slut, or you say it when you do cum. If you like suh-lut, den I wanna know what suh-lut is, so I can do more of it. Lots more!"

"Well, pretty little Korean girlfriend," I answered, "the word 'SLUT' is a tricky one, just like a lot of other words about sex and fucking are. Its like me saying you're Asian. It can say something, like lovely golden skin and almond shaped eyes and straight, thick black hair, and being so tiny and all. But Asian can be Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese, Cambodian, Indonesian, Philippine, Pacific Islander, on and on."

"Let me go and bring up something from the computer, that describes a slut by comparing her to a 'good' white girl. You're gonna have to let me go, too."

Then followed a really difficult computer online session, with me trying to bring up a seldom-used file, and Boh on my lap, squirming and all but giving me a lap dance while completely nude and going into heat. I finally got the file up on the screen, just before the little minx came and squirted a little in my lap... just the way I liked it.

Here's what I found:

SLUT - A Four-Letter Word

Sarah D. Bunting - September 1, 2001

Ah, "slut." A compact little word, forceful even in the way it sounds, starting out with a hissing sibilant and pushing off of the tongue through the L and U, and then that nastily crisp T. "Slut." Say it a few times out loud. Roll it around in your mouth. "Sssslut." "Sss...lllut." Say it again. Notice that it's difficult — almost impossible, in fact — to pronounce it neutrally. It's got a sneer built into it, that word. It's not as twangy and unthreatening as "tramp." It's not as easy to yell as "whore." "Whore" is built for screaming rage and dishes flying through the air, with a nice gusty H at the front and a big old roaring R bringing up the rear. Not "slut," though. "Slut" is muttered. "Slut" is whispered. "Whore" comes in like a punch, but "slut" tingles, like a slap. "Slut" hides behind the teeth. "Slut" is for when your back is turned.

"Slut" is for when you don't act like a lady. "Slut" is for when you sit with your legs apart. "Slut" is for when you wear it short, tight, without a bra, no panties, cut up high and down low and around the side, because, see, "slut" is also for when you have the nerve to enjoy your body in front of women who hate their own bodies. Don't strut. Don't dance with soul, or lick your lips. Don't look too good; don't think you look too good. Digging your own self is slutty. Making your own good time is slutty. Who do you think you are, anyway? Knees together, slut.

"Slut" is for when you forget to hate and fear boys. "Slut" is for when you talk to them, flirt with them, hang out with them and watch kung fu movies, pretend they don't suck at guitar, sit on their laps, cut their hair. "Slut" is for when you don't remember that you can't have a male friend unless he's your brother or gay, because your male friends want to fuck you, and you can't handle that. "Slut" is liking sports and belches and messy apartments — or, rather, "liking" those things, because you couldn't really like those things. You just pretend to like them so that you can get attention from men, because you have no personality of your own, and even if you did, men only want you for your action anyway. That's pathetic. Get a life, slut.

"Slut" is for when, in spite of everything you've learned from Cosmo and your sorority sisters, you just love men, for when you want to look at them and talk about them and burrow your nose into their necks and lick them from head to toe and hop right on them when they walk in the door like that scene from Raising Arizona where Holly Hunter clings to Nicolas Cage like a wood tick. Ugh. That's so undignified. That's so unfeminine. "Slut" is for walking down the street and talking to a friend on your cell phone and watching a cute boy walk past in the opposite direction and looking at him and looking away and looking back and then turning around in mid-sentence to keep looking. "Slut" is for thinking of stubble burn and biting your lip. "Slut" is for remembering the way your first true love used to pin you up against his car door and flushing clear up to the roots of your hair. "Slut" is for big hands and deep voices. "Slut" is for on top of you and under you and behind you, in the closet, on the floor, under the piano. "Slut" is for liking it. "Slut" is for wanting it. "Slut" is for going after it. Men hunt, women gather; men chase, women wait. Look it up, slut.

"Slut" is for kissing boys with tongue. "Slut" is for kissing lots of different boys with tongue. "Slut" is for craving kissing lots of different boys with tongue. That's not right, you know. It says so in the Bible, and in social hygiene films. "Slut" is for loving sex. "Slut" is for needing sex. "Slut" is for thinking sex isn't shameful. Sex is for married people, for diamond-ring owners, for nice girls in twin sets whose mothers hid the Erica Jong, for people totally and completely, like, in total and complete love, and it takes place behind closed doors, with the lights out. Sex isn't fun. Sex isn't casual. Give up the least amount of sex you can. Sex is a deadly serious, disgusting, dirty, humiliating, sticky-gooey, degrading business. Sex is nasty. Liking sex is what you fake until the ink is dry on the marriage license. Just lie there. Don't move around. Don't use your fingernails or moan or anything; that's slutty. Don't get on top. Don't go down. Going down is really slutty, especially if you like it as much as he does. Ew. That's so gross. Only a slut would like that. That's so sickening. I bet you masturbate, too. Ew, I can't even think about that. That's so foul — touching yourself down there like that? That's — well, it's dirty and sticky and gross, dude! Nobody does that. Well, boys do, but that's different.

"Slut" is for sex outside a committed relationship. Sex outside a committed relationship is a cry for help. It means you have no self-respect, obviously. You're, like, a total nympho, man. I can't believe you would even do that. God. Don't talk about it. Don't think about it. Don't miss it. Don't daydream about doing it with Josh Hartnett in a waterfall. I mean — yuck. That's totally slutty. Are you, like, desperate or something? Why else would you just have sex with a guy? Just because it feels good? That's so wrong. You're so wrong. You're such a slut.

"Slut" is for fucking on the first date, giving head instead of your phone number, not caring if he calls, caring if he calls but fucking another guy to pass the time. You do that stuff, well, clearly you're a slut. What's even worse? You, like, enjoy it. It's so show-offy, too. Like, "Look at me, I think I'm a guy," like Samantha on Sex & The City, like, get over yourself, hon. And, I mean, Samantha brings home at least one new guy every week, but she's, like, obviously so miserable and empty inside because she never settles down. Don't you want to get married? How do you ever expect to get married if you keep slutting around? You have to save yourself. I mean, no man's going to want you if you've slept with, like, a million other guys before him. You're used. You're dirty. He'll fuck you, but he'll never bring you home to his mother, because you didn't stay pure and go to bed only with guys you loved. And you can't have more experience than your husband; that's just not done. What if he gets insecure about it? You'll scare him off. You don't want that, do you?

And you've probably got diseases. I bet you don't even use protection. Remember? How you have no self-respect? And don't use condoms and birth control, because you just want guys to like you, so you just fuck them? That's so sad. I feel really sorry for you. Yeah, you say you enjoy it, but it's just a compulsion, and it's pitiful, really.

Just stay away from my man, okay? Don't even talk to him. Women have to look out for each other, because men would never look out for us, because we don't deserve their respect and fidelity. We women have to stick together. If he steps out on me with you, that's not his fuck-up. It's yours. I mean, you're the slut here. It's never my fault. You obviously came onto him all barracuda-style and lured him into bed, so I blame you completely. So just don't even go over there to talk to him. He'd never treat me right, and if I left you two alone, something would happen.

God, I can't even look at you. You just prance around acting all carefree like you don't care what happens, like it doesn't matter, like you have the right to sleep with whomever you want or something — you make me ill! I hate you! Fuck you, slut!"

If you found yourself nodding along in sincere agreement with any of what's written above, you have a serious, serious problem and need to report to your nearest therapist for a course of self-esteem rehabilitation and double-standard deprogramming. The rest of you may continue to wear your sluttishness with pride. Here endeth the lesson.

- - - - - -

Boh read about being a SLUT, with eyes glazed. She read the passage over and over. Then she turned to me, and slithered off my lap, to stand in front of me, boobs and distended nipples slowly moving with her breathing. She said, "So I'm a suh-lut. Yeah, I am one. I like it. I love it!"

She fell to her knees, and took my slowly-stiffening manhood in her mouth, and started the slow kissing-sucking-licking that she knew I liked. Slow stiffening turned to full erection in less than a minute. Then she took my hard cock out of her mouth, and looked at it, and then up at me. "Dis is 'going down,' yeah, I think it is. I love going down. Love making your big cock bigger. More full. Make you crazy for little Korean suh-lut. All you can think about is getting into pretty, tiny, Asian pussy, and den you thrust and den you cum. Ahh, I love you inside me, and dat means I'm your suh-lut."

She said, "I'm a suh-lut. Sex me, right now, here on the floor. I wanna be your suh-lut, your little Asian suh-lut. Damn, so hard to say. I wanna talk like a saa-lut. I sure wanna fuck like a (she concentrated), SLUT, dere, I say it right. You call me a slut when you inside me. I insist. Love to hear you tell the truth, that I screw like a fuckin' slut. You say it, come on, get big cock inside me, 'way up inside, and den you tell me all about what a slut Boh is."

Suiting action to words, and showing surprising strength, she rolled me over, so I lay on my back. Then she mounted over me, and slid my quivering cock into her still-tight vagina. The one I so-recently deflowered.

Boh said, grinning like a mad woman, "You let me do alla work. You have so-big disk, an' I want it all. I want it deep. Dat make me a s-s-slut. I your slut. Pretty tiny little Korean slut, getting big dick on the floor. Damn it, you look at me, you look at me right new. Dese tits, dey bounce and swing for you. Hot, big, red nipples, so sensitive, just for you to suck, and make me more crazy." She bounced up and down with increasing speed. Then she stiffened and yelled, "I cum!!"

Shuddering and shaking, the little Asian slut rammed her cunt back down on my hard cock, and started in again, holding herself over me on her hands and knees, hips pumping away. She screamed again, "Oh, I cum again! So hot!" Then she ordered, "You look down at my hips. I pump me onto you, 'cause I love you inside of me! Pump, in and out. Ah, God, I cum! Yeah, I fuckin' slut, cum all over big cock inside. Yeah... oh, yeah, I cum again."

She writhed, and forced herself upright, still impaled on my cock, and started a penetrated lap dance, hips swing from side to side and belly moving in and out. No way I could have lasted this long if I hadn't cum in her a couple of hours ago, so I held out.