When lovely young Miranda's father is unable to pay an Asian crime lord
the money he has lost in gambling, he offers up his daughter instead.
"Daddy? Is it all right if I... oh. Excuse me."
Miranda blinked in surprise at the two strange men in her
father's study. "I didn't know you had company."
The men were Asian. One was quite stocky, with enormous arms
and practically no neck. He looked like a bull, with dark, beady,
suspicious eyes. But the other... The other was tall and broad
shouldered, wearing a magnificently tailored suit that fit well across
his powerful chest. He was exquisitely handsome, with high cheekbones,
and piercing brown eyes.
"Never mind, Miranda," her father said hurriedly. "I'll see
you later."
"Ahh, but Stephen, you surely must introduce me to this
lovely young lady," one of the men said, turning and smiling warmly at her.
Miranda had an odd feeling as she met his eyes. There was a
raw, masculine strength in them she had never sensed in the callow
youths who had vied for her attentions thus far in her life. He was a
much older man, of course, almost as old as her father, but ruggedly
handsome and with a strange, raw sexuality which immediately sparked a
response deep within her.
"Ahh well, this is my daughter, Miranda," her father said
reluctantly. "This is Mr. Chan, a uh, business associate."
Miranda blinked her wide green eyes at the name. She had
overheard bits and snatches of conversation over the past few weeks with
that name, and knew her father was terribly worried about something.
"I am most delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Foster,"
Chan said with a white-toothed smile.
She blinked in surprise again, then blushed as he seized her
hand in a grip that was silken, yet with iron beneath, bowed, and
brushed his soft lips across her hand above the knuckles.
He raised his eyes and again she caught that hot, raw fire of
male hunger. It made her shiver, but drew out a response that was partly
pride, partly excitement, and partly coy delight.
She straightened as he let her hand go, thrusting her full
young breasts out against the pale green rugby shirt she wore. Her eyes
caught and held his for a moment, then gave way with a show of demure
self possession.
"Mr. Chan and I have work to do, Miranda," her father said.
"For such a lovely interruption, all men must make time,"
Chan said, not turning.
His eyes travelled slowly down over her body, then back up,
and Miranda felt breathless.
"I... must be off," she said with a hesitant smile.
She backed up slightly, then turned, hardly noting her father
as she slipped out through the study door.
She closed her eyes just outside, putting her hand to her
chest to feel her pounding heart and shaking her head in wonderment. She
had no idea why she'd found Mr. Chan so incredibly attractive. No man
had affected her like that before.
She returned to her room and looked down at her clothes,
wrinkling her nose in distaste. She wished she had been wearing
something more ladylike, something better than jeans and a rugby jersey.
She went to her wardrobe and opened it, examining some of her
things, absently chewing her lower lip despite the best efforts of a
series of teachers. She didn't look bad in the jersey, really. It's deep
green set off both her eyes and her long, thick coppery red hair.
But she would have preferred something sexier, perhaps a
short skirt, for she was nearly six feet tall and had gorgeous long legs.
She pulled up the shirt, then reached down and unbuttoned her
jeans, tugging the zip down and then shoving them down and off. She
stepped out of them, wearing only her thin bikini panties, and turned to
the wardrobe.
The sound of slamming car doors drew her eyes to the window,
and she hurried to look outside. She saw her father getting into a dark
black American car, the bull-like man who had been in the den with him
going around to the front and climbing in the drivers seat. She felt
disappointed she had missed the sight of Mr. Chan as she watched the car
pull out onto the road.
With a sigh, she let the curtain fall back and returned to
her wardrobe. A knock at the door drew her head around with a frown, for
aside from her father only the Annie the maid lived with them and it was
her day off.
"Yes?" she said instinctively.
The door opened, and her heart skipped a beat as Mr. Chan
stood in the frame, smiling handsomely.
She was instantly aware of her bare legs, and glanced quickly
down, as if to assure herself the jersey was quite long enough. It fell
about her thighs, barely covering the crotch of her bikini panties.
"M-Mr. Chan?" she gulped.
"May I...enter?"
She stared at him, her stomach suddenly full of butterflies.
"My father and..."
"Your father and my... aide, Samto are going to the bank to
make some brief arrangements to cover a shortfall of his. I had to make
a phone call so I stayed behind but...alas, the person I wished to call
is not at home."
He stepped forward, looking around the room curiously.
Miranda followed his gaze, then blushed scarlet as she saw his eyes
light on a lacy purple thong discarded beside her bed.
"Your father says you have delayed your entry to university,"
he said, turning his eyes on her again.
"I-I ah, yes," she said breathlessly.
He stepped closer, and she held her ground only with effort,
feeling the butterflies thickth hands and was raising it, lifting it
slowly, as though raising a curtain.
She couldn't breathe as she was frozen by indecision. Then he
was lifting it up about her chest, and she weakly raised her arms to let
him slip it off.
"Lovely," he whispered, his voice like silk.
His hand moved up behind her head, catching at her thick red
hair and then pulling back slowly. She gasped, trembling, drawing back
her head to push out her chest. Without pause, his hand released her
hair, sliding down her spine, leaving a trial of fire as, withbsp; He
stopped in front of her again, and raised his hand. His finger slid
slowly along her forehead, brushing back her thick bangs, and she felt
her legs go weak. Her lips were moist and parted as she blinked her eyes
up at him.
"That is a lovely perfume," he whispered, leaning in, his
lips brushing along her neck.
"I-I don't...don't..."
His chest pushed ever so briefly against her breasts, and she
realized as the crackle of sexual electricity connected them, that her
nipples were almost painfully erect.
His head drew back, his finger sliding along the nape of her
neck, then down her shoulder, down along her side to her hip. Suddenly
he had the hem of the jersey in both hands and was raising it, lifting
it slowly, as though raising a curtain.
She couldn't breathe as she was frozen by indecision. Then he
was lifting it up about her chest, and she weakly raised her arms to let
him slip it off.
"Lovely," he whispered, his voice like silk.
His hand moved up behind her head, catching at her thick red
hair and then pulling back slowly. She gasped, trembling, drawing back
her head to push out her chest. Without pause, his hand released her
hair, sliding down her spine, leaving a trial of fire as, with the deft
flick of his wrist, her bra parted.
She raised her arms instinctively, but he shook his head,
sliding the bra off, taking her wrists and lifting them up behind her
head. He joined them together, her two slender wrists held easily in one
of his large, powerful hands, then tugged down, again forcing her to
arch her back.
Her breasts were so taut, so swollen they were throbbing, the
nipples tingling with the slight hint of breeze coming from the window.
His hand pressed flat against her chest between them, eased
down her torso and caught lightly at her panties, then with a sharp jerk
he tore them off her. Her hips lurched forward for a moment, and she let
out a low cry of alarm and excitement, then stood still, trembling in
his grip, exposed to his eyes.
"Do you want me, Miranda?" he whispered, his lips brushing
her ear.
"I-I ca...can't..."
"Yes or no?"
"I-I...y-yes," she whispered, shocked at herself.
He released her wrists and stepped back, eyes hot and hungry.
"Walk for me."
She stared at him in surprise, face red. "Wh-what?"
"Walk. Show me how you walk."
"I don't..."
"Walk," he snapped, his voice making her flinch.
She looked down nervously, then walked forward, slowly at
first, then more easily. She blushed as he watched her, walking to the
door, then back again, turning, her breasts jiggling softly.
"What size bra do you use?" he asked.
Again she was surprised, but it was all a hot, steamy,
incredible sexual thrill, and her embarrasment was giving way to her
arousal.
"Thirty-Six-D cup," she said.
"Very nice. They look lovely. Has anyone ever told you you
have lovely breasts?"
She shook her head dumbly.
"Chinese girls very seldom have such large breasts. Nor are
they so tall as you."
She swallowed and felt butterflies in her throat.
"Bend over," he said calmly.
"What?"
"Bend," he ordered, his voice taking on that sharpness again.
She bent over as he moved behind her, feeling embarassed
anew. She was degrading herself before this stranger, and yet - and yet
it was so hot, so incredibly hot. And she was young, and beautiful, and
feeling the heat of an erotic adventure.
"Oh!"
His hand slipped between her thighs and he cupped her mons
gently, then let a finger trail up between the lips of her sex, sawing
lightly back and forth. She was sopping, and the touch of his finger
made her grind her hips helplessly. She felt alarmed at her own heat,
for she could not remember ever being so aroused.
"Get down on your hands and knees," he ordered sharply.
She obeyed instantly, feeling his eyes boring into her.
"Now... crawl."
She took a deep breath, then obeyed, crawling slowly across
the floor, crawling to the door under his gaze, feeling her breasts
swing below her as she moved.
She turned at the door, crawling back to kneel at his feet.
"This is the true position of the female," he said, walking
slowly around her as she knelt on all fours. "At the feet of the male,
prepared to be mounted."
He moved before her again, looking down with profound
arrogance and self confidence.
"Sit back on your heels."
Again she did not question. The thrill surrounded her like a
hot, steaming cloud. All the cheap fumblings, gropings and gruntings
with assorted boyfriends now seemed like so much cheap, childish games.
She watched him pluck her robe from where it lay on the bed,
then slide the long silk belt from its loops. He walked over to her,
holding the thin silk belt, and crouched behind her.
"Cross your wrists behind your back."
The words hit her chest like a hammer, but her arms went back
behind her and she crossed her wrists obediently. This can't be
happening, she thought dazedly.
She felt the belt wrap around one wrist, then cinch tight as
he knotted it. It circled her other wrist, then back again, back and
forth until he tied it off and her wrists were immoveably locked together.
She pulled experimentally, then her head swept up and around
as he stepped in front of her. He reached for his fly, slowly unzipping
his trousers. He reached in, and she watched helplessly as his erection
came forth, thick and dark, hair springing up around it as he pulled it
through the opening.
His left hand reached for her hair, pulling her up off her
heels, then he rubbed his swollen cockhead across her forehead, cheeks,
then lips.
He thrust it into her without warning, and her soft lips
enveloped it, her tongue rising as the tip pushed up against the roof of
her mouth. She started to suck, her cheeks pulling in, anad her tongue
licked eagerly as she sought to bob her lips down its length.
Yet his grip tightened in her hair, holding her in place. She
could not move as he began to pump himself in her mouth, using her. She
sucked as best she could, feeling the heat lapping up her body from
between her thighs.
"You are a whore," he said.
For a moment she felt stricken, but something in his voice,
something in his expression weakened the effect, turning it in another
direction. It wasn't an insult - exactly, but a compliment.
"English slut," he growled, pumping his cock harder, deeper.
She gagged a few times, trying to twist her head as he pushed
too deep. Then he yanked it back, rubbing the spit wet head across her
cheeks.
"Are you a whore, English girl?" he breathed.
"Y-Yes," she croaked.
"Say it!"
"I-I'm a...a whore!"
"A weak little creature of sex and lust."
"Yes!" she groaned. "Please! Please!"
She wanted him inside her, needed him deep inside her. She
had never felt so empty, so vacant down there. She had never needed a
man inside her like she did now.
He let her go, and pointed at the floor.
"Bend over. Show me what you want."
She groaned and lurched forward, dropping onto her
shoulderes, her breasts aching as they made contact with the floor. She
raised her buttocks, spreading her knees apart, feeling her slick pubic
lips part ever so slightly as she opened herself to him, feeling the
heat of her body oozing forth.
"Do you want it, English girl?"
"Yes!"
"Yes, master."
Her eyes widened, then closed. She shuddered.
"Yes... master!" she breathed.
"Whore," he said with a thin smile. This whorish behaviour of
yours is unacceptable, girl. Your people would think poorly of you
behaving so, especially to a heathen Chinese."
"I-I don't care," she whispered.
"They would punish you, would they not?"
"I-I, yes," she gulped.
"And the way they punish their young here? Is it not directed
against the soft flesh of your buttocks?"
He drew his belt out of the loops, doubling it in his fist,
then slapped it down lightly against her upraised buttocks.
"Are you a wicked girl?" he demanded.
"Yes! Oh yes!" she whimpered.
"Say it!"
"I'm a wicked, wicked girl!"
The belt came down again, harder, making a light slap that
stung ever so slightly.
"Filthy woman," he growled.
"I"m a bad giiiirl," she moaned, her head pulsing with sexual
need, with wildfire lust and hunger.
Again the belt descended, and she yelped slightly as it stung
her pale white skin.
"Do you need to be punished?"
This is mad. I'm mad! What am I doing here? What would my
friends think?!
She shuddered and moaned. "Yes, master!"
The sound of her words made her insides squirm with excitement.
The belt lashed down once more, and she cried out at the
sharp ache. Again it descended, then again, each blow making her yelp,
raising the heat in her flesh. Her breasts ground forward against the
floor as she reacted to the blows, and her pussy throbbed in need.
"Wicked girl," he growled.
CRACK!
"Filthy girl!"
CRACK!
"Owww!" The blows were really hurting now, her buttocks
stinging, turning red. Her wrists pulled fitfully against the silk
binding them together, yet she made no effort to turn away, to close her
thighs and hide her vulnerable sex. She was caught up in the wildness of
something she could not control.
CRACK!
"Please!" she sobbed.
CRACK!
"Please!" she cried.
"Please what, girl?"
"Please I... it...it hurts."
"That is how wicked little girls are punished in this land."
CRACK!
"OWww!"
It was insane! Yet she felt an odd thrilling excitement with
the blows. It was growing more powerful, the sexual heat, and the warmth
of her already throbbing backside filtering the blows.
Tears filled her eyes, and cried out as the blows lashed down
again and again. Her behind felt on fire, and the pain cut at her mind.
Yet there was something so... so right about it, so wonderful and
natural. Each new blow sent a shudder of shocked warmth through her
loins, and she realized with a start that she was on the verge of climax.
The belt descended once more, slashing across the taut cheeks
of her behind, lower now, making her cry out as the edge glanced across
the softer outline of her sex. She was breathing in harsh, ragged
breaths, eyes closed, legs spread wide apart and behind elevated as high
as she dared.
The next blow landed directly across her weeping sex and she
screamed, her knees bouncing and jerking on the floor as acid filled her
stomach and fire burned her mind. It hurt, oh how it hurt! It hurt worse
than anything!
And it felt so wonderful!
Another blow blasted agony through her mind, the belt
striking her vulnerable sex with a sharp, wet sound that was echoed by
her sobbing. Another landed, and another, and she came with a wanton
grinding of her hips, screaming aloud as she never had in her life,
thrusting her pelvis back to meet the next blow as her insides burned
and her nervous system overloaded.
Never had she felt such ecstasy, such raw, wild sexual joy as
she did now, with her throbbing, aching pussy spurting fire into her veins.
Her legs slid aside, her rubbery legs dropping her to the
floor to spasm and jerk, her body writhing in the throes of orgiastic
agony. Her mind fluttered helplessly, battered like a leaf in a high
wind, and for long, long seconds she was unaware of anything behind the
storm within her body.
Then consciousness returned, first with the feel of hard
fingers gripping her jaw and cheeks, lifting her head up and forward.
She saw, but barely noted the rounded helmet head of his cock as it
pushed into her mouth, then had barely an instant of wonder before it
thrust through her open maw and straight down her throat.
She was too weak to resist, her body exhausted and drained
from the energy the climax had torn from it. Chan held her small head in
his large powerful hands, held it straight up and back as he sent his
thick cock sliding through her lips and into her throat.
She gagged for only a second, her eyes bulging as she
shuddered. Then her body seemed to accept this invasion, and her moist
lips slid down along the straining shaft until they were pressed tightly
against his pubic bone, her nose squeezed in against his abdomen.
She heard him speak as though from a great distance, but
could not make out the words. His cock was thick inside her throat,
uncomfortable. Yet there was no pain. He drew it back slowly, and her
eyes crossed somewhat as she stared at the glistening length of male
flesh appearing from out of her mouth.
Inch after inch came free, until that part of her mind which
had reassembled itself felt amazed. She was not very experienced a girl
for her time and society, yet she had seen male organs aplenty. Most had
been in pictures or on video, but a number had been in the flesh, so to
speak. None had seemed as long as this, nor as, for want of a more
suitable word, powerful.
She gagged as the head came free of her mouth, and gulped in
air as he rubbed the thing across her face.
"I am quite certain I can find a use for you, my young
English girl, which will fulfill all your desires for travel and
adventure," he said.
She had no time to ponder those words before he was pushing
forward again. She knew a moment of panic, seeing the length of his
powerful cock and knowing she could not possibly take it into her.
Yet she had, she realized, and the panic fled before wonder
and a wicked desire as his soft, rounded head pushed into her throat
once more.
Again it slid straight down her gullet, and this time she was
more of a mind to feel it, to analyse the sensations and be amazed at
the achievement.
She had heard of girls being able to swallow a man's entire
penis, of course, and once, years ago, had even experimented on a banana
in hopes of accomplishing such a deed herself. She had failed miserably
- until now.
He buried his soft lance inside her, and again her face was
pressed up firmly against his abdomen as his fingers pressed tightly
against her head. He held her but a moment, however, before drawing back.
This time, though, he did not pull free. Instead he thrust
forward once more before again drawing back. He began to pump himself
inside her throat and mouth, using her faster and faster. It was harsh,
cold and brutal, and her throat ached from its unaccustomed and quite
unnatural raping.
She had never heard of a girl having her throat raped before.
But as she lay there, her weight heavy on her plump breasts, her hands
becoming numb below the tight bindings around her wrists, she realized
that this indeed was what he was doing.
She tried to think logically. She had denied him nothing,
after all, and even cooperated. She had as much as begged him to use
her, and degraded herself before him.
Yet she decided that was he was doing was rape.
This did not dismay her. On the contrary, she felt a hot rush
of excitement at the thought. She had often had fantasies of rape and
abuse, of being a bound harem girl or a pirate's prisoner. The darkly
handsome and wild Mr. Chan was almost a thing out of her dreams.
And what he was doing was physically quite uncomfortable. She
wriggled helplessly, unable to breath, her own saliva slipping down over
her lower lip as he pumped the long length of his cock back and forth
inside her throat.
Her nose began to ache, as well, as he continued to sheath
his cock within her and crush her face against his body. She whimpered
weakly, despite the excitement, unable even to protest due to the
thickness of the cock filling her mouth.
Then with a grunt he buried the long length of it inside her
and held her face pressed against him. She fancied she could feel his
juices streaming down her throat and dropping into her stomach like hot
lava as his cock began to soften.
He drew back with a soft sigh, and his grip loosened around
her head. He let her head fall slowly and she lay there, chest heaving,
gasping for breath as he gripped a thick wad of her hair and used it to
clean her saliva off his cock.
He stood up then and she heard his pants zip.
"Get up, girl" he ordered.
She lay still, too weary, too worn.
He reached down and gripped her arm, half lifting her before
her flailing legs were able to support and help raise her. She blinked
her large green eyes up at him.
"I've decided to hire you as my... assistant," Chan said.
"I'm leaving this country, as it happens, and returning to Singapore.
Afterwards I travel to China. You will come with me."
She blinked her eyes in confusion.
"I have already arranged this with your father," he said at
the moment she thought of it herself. "He thinks it would be an
excellent opportunity for you to get experience in business."
"But Mr..."
He bent and scooped up her panties, then without a word
shoved them into her mouth, holding her tightly as he forced the last
bit through her startled lips.
"I do not need your mouth for anything just now," he said
cooly. "And do not wish to hear female babbling."
A stocking was quickly wrapped around her head, and she
moaned as it pulled in tightly between her lips, wedging the panties in
harder. He tied it behind her, then, holding her by the arm, led her to
her door and out into the hall.
She was still breathing hard, still trying to get her mind
working again, as he led her down the stairs and out to the front door.
Then the cool concrete of the front porch was against her
bare feet, and the big black American car was pulling up before her. She
felt a moment of panic at the thought of her father seeing her this way,
then another moment of panic at the thought of him not arriving to put a
stop to Mr. Chan's obvious intent to take her away.
The big man, Samto got out of the car and came around to open
the rear door. His eyes feasted on her, and she blushed and dropped her
eyes.
"Miranda will be going with us," he said.
"Of course, Master Chan," Samto said
"I trust her father has been dealt with?"
"Yes, Master Chan. I left him to walk the last few miles and
reminded him that he had only two weeks to come up with the balance of
the payment."
Chan pushed Miranda to the car, then bent her head. She eased
in reluctantly, feeling the leather against her naked backside as she
sat back.
He entered behind her, and smiled, patting her thigh as the
door was slammed. Samto hurried around the car and got in the front,
then the car accelerated smoothly forward.
The drive was bizarre, to say the least. They drove into
London and through busy streets. Cars passed them on either side, and
pedestrians walked by on the pavement. Yet none could see through the
darkly tinted glass to the naked, bound, gagged young woman staring out
with wide eyes.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
From the book: An English Girl in China, by Argus
Argus erotic books have been published by Virgin Nexus, Silver Moon,
Star, Olympia, Chimera, and Beeline. They are available at
http://www.ebookblue.com
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