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