INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS
by
C. Lakewood
"When I was almost 13, my father was transferred to the Far East,
and we lived in Japan for about 3 years. I was bigger than all the
Japanese girls my age (and even some of the boys) and much less agile.
I was, of course, 'gaijin' -- a foreigner -- and that meant a lot.
"We played this game with seven 4-sided dice (shaped like little
pyramids), with symbols instead of dots. We'd gamble our clothes, and
the first one naked was the loser -- and had to be everybody's servant.
I never understood the rules, and I always lost. Always! But after
the first couple of times, I knew I always wanted to lose. It was
humiliating, but...."
I suddenly realized that I was talking too much (and revealing too
much). I took another gulp of wine (as if I hadn't had enough already).
Emiko Hasegawa, my graduate assistant, sat across the table wearing an
enigmatic expression.
I dragged the conversation into less dangerous areas and kept it
there -- the sort of curve I wanted her to use in grading, for example,
which place in town made the best pizza, and how much we both loved
tennis and hated housework.... I was resolutely discreet for the rest
of the evening. Though we did agree to play tennis Thursday, and we
even made a bet -- loser to serve as maid to the winner.
*********************************
When we walked onto the court Thursday afternoon, I was feeling
pretty confident. After all, while she was younger, I was bigger and
stronger, with excellent stamina and a devastating serve. I decided to
take it easy on her the first game, but I won, anyway. As it turned
out, though, she had been taking it easy on me. She won the first set
6-3 and the second 6-1. (There was a long volley in the fifth game of
the second set, and, after that, I was absolutely blown.) By the terms
of the bet, I owed her eight Saturdays of maid service!
*********************************
So noon Saturday found me standing nervously at the door of Emiko's
apartment. When she eventually answered my knock, she was barefoot and
swathed in a white terry robe. She looked younger and tinier than ever.
As she let me in, she waited for me to slip off my shoes, and then
said, "I was just about to take a bath, as you can see." She gestured
toward the bedroom. "I've laid out everything you'll need. See if it
fits."
Smiling thinly, she then went off into the bathroom, leaving me to
contemplate the outfit lying on the bed. It wasn't the classic French
maid's uniform, but sort of a midwestern, middle class analogue:
short-sleeved white cotton blouse (heavily starched), black pleated
mini-skirt, black ribbon "secretary's tie," and a tiny white apron. I
was a trifle surprised that Emiko would be so bold -- and so perceptive.
My nipples were stiff, my pussy moist, and my clit beginning to throb as
I took off my clothes. She'd said this was "everything" I'd need. I'd
already guessed that I wouldn't be wearing shoes inside, and I now
supposed that she didn't mean for me to wear stockings or bra or panties
either, since she hadn't provided any. I thought briefly about wearing
my own, but decided that wouldn't be "playing the game," as it were.
Though embarrassed, I did put on the uniform and nothing else. It
fit very well, though the skirt was scandalously short; it ended no
more than 3 inches below my crotch. It was just "decent" as long as I
was standing straight and still, but bent or moving....
But then Emiko called to me through the open bathroom door. I could
feel myself blushing furiously as I hastened to answer her summons. My
breasts were wobbling inside the starched blouse, and my unprotected
nipples were tingling from the friction.
The bathroom was Edwardian in style -- rather old fashioned, but
still very chic. Emiko was lying in a big claw-foot tub, just soaking
in clear, hot water. Her body was boyishly slim, her breasts smaller
than I'd expected -- long, dark nipples on two barely perceptible
mounds. She had no pubic hair.
She gazed at me, cocking her head and pursing her lips in thought.
At length, she nodded and said, "Up on your toes. You won't be wearing
shoes here, but I want to see how your legs would look if you did."
I braced my right hand on the pedestal sink and levered myself up
onto my toes. I stayed there, a bit precariously, my legs quivering.
She looked at me for a long moment, then sighed, closed her eyes, and
settled back in the water. I wasn't sure what to do, so I remained
standing there.
Time passed, 4 or 5 minutes, maybe. It was a test, and I did so
want to pass. It was a strain, standing there on my toes, but it was
exciting, too.
Finally, she looked over at me once again. She sniffed. "I can
smell you from here, my girl," she said. "Come closer."
I tottered over, legs trembling. (I was surprised my pussy didn't
squish.)
"You're very turned on."
I nodded.
"Speak when you're spoken to."
"Yes.... Sorry."
"And you will address me as 'Miss,' while you're my maid."
"I'm s-sorry, Miss. Yes, I'm very turned on, very wet."
"Show me."
I raised my skirt with my left hand and touched my pussy with my
right. I dipped my forefinger inside, wiggled it around, and pulled
it out, glistening wetly.
"Lick your finger clean."
Hesitantly, I obeyed.
"How does it taste?"
Um.... Rather bland, Miss, a bit salty...."
"Hmmm. When you're aroused, your cunt odor is very strong -- not
like the delicate perfume of a Japanese girl."
I flashed back some 15 years, remembering a humiliating test they
often made me undergo: matching panties to cunts just by smell. Every
one I missed I had to carry wadded up in my mouth for an hour. I
wondered if I should tell Miss Emiko about that....
Oh, god! What was I thinking? What was happening here? I was
Dr. Catherine Cardiff, assistant professor, and she was my subordinate,
yet I slipped so easily into the role of the underling. I needed to
get a grip.... This is just a game, a bit of play-acting, a lark....
She interrupted my thoughts. "You're also much too hairy, but we
can deal with that later. Right now, play with yourself with two
fingers -- but don't cum. Stay up on your toes, play with your sloppy
cunt, and don't cum."
So I played with myself as she watched. It was hard to keep from
cumming, and I started to sweat from the strain. My cunt started to
stink worse. She inhaled deeply again, smiled with satisfaction, and
began to finger her own pussy. For several minutes we finger-fucked
ourselves, sometimes in unison and sometimes in counterpoint. But, all
the while, she was free, and I was constrained. Finally, she went rigid
for a moment and then relaxed. My own orgasm kept building, getting
nearer and nearer, despite my efforts to suppress it. I couldn't look
at her any more -- I needed to concentrate all my faculties just to keep
my orgasm at bay.
I was nearly frantic by the time she roused herself and ordered me
to stop masturbating and go wait for her in the bedroom. I was so
turned on that I staggered drunkenly, but I did stay on my toes and
managed to make it down the hall to the next room, where I collapsed
in a heap on the bed.
By the time Emiko had dried off and followed, I was sitting up and
relatively composed. She paused in the doorway, frowning. Then she
shook her head, ruefully, as if at an errant child.
"Who told you to sit?"
I hopped up, blushing and mumbling apologies.
She handed me a bottle of herbal lotion, stretched out on the bed,
and told me to give her a good massage.
I worked over her naked, golden body for a long time, moisturizing
and massaging, becoming familiar with every nook and cranny. If my cunt
was rank and stinking, her aroma was wonderful, night-blooming jasmine
with a hint of sandalwood. Her slender legs were deceptively
well-muscled; no wonder she was able to run me ragged on the tennis
court.
The longer I worked, the hotter and wetter my cunt felt and the
harder it was for me to breathe. At last, she waved me away.
"I've got a long list of chores for you, but you look just about at
the end of your tether -- and I don't want you dripping all over the
place, either. So go ahead and get yourself off first. But don't
dawdle."
I lifted my skirt and caressed my cunt.
"No," she said. "Afterwards, you're going to be hand washing my
lingerie and then scrubbing the toilet and the bathroom floor. I
don't want you messing up your uniform, so you may as well take it
off right now."
So I stripped again, this time under her watchful eye. I wondered
what SHE thought of MY body. I blushed to realize that I had to show
myself to her, buck naked. My body was nothing to be ashamed of,
exactly, but I was 4 or 5 pounds heavier than I liked, and my skin tone
looked almost pasty next to hers.
But I dutifully stripped and began diddling my cunt...and then
paused. Though I was in heat and aching to cum, this was somehow not
right. It was no more outrageous than most of what I'd already had to
do, but....
"I-I just can't," I sobbed. I huddled into my outer clothes,
gathered up my purse and my underwear, and bolted from the apartment.
Emiko merely watched, silent and still.
*********************************
The following week was almost unbearably stressful. I might have
put it all behind me, if she weren't my assistant. As it was, though,
we had to come into frequent contact. Emiko's attitude was cool and
correct, but I sensed an almost subliminal undertone of disdain. I
finally couldn't stand it any longer, and, hoping we might discuss
things, I asked her to come to my office after her last class Friday.
So, late Friday afternoon found me sitting nervously in my office,
pretending to do research. There was a knock on the door -- not loud,
not timid, but sort of noncommital.
I looked up. "Ah, yes. Come in."
"You wanted to see me?" Emiko seemed very laid back.
"Um, yes. Sit down. Well, about last week-end, I wanted to
say...um...that I'm s-sorry...." But she began squirming pointedly.
"What's the matter?"
"This chair is very uncomfortable." She looked me directly in the
eye. "I think yours must be much nicer...." She let it hang there
between us.
"Oh, well, then. Let's just switch."
She settled into my comfy executive-style chair, and I started to
sit down on the straight, armless side chair.
"No," she said. "That chair's too uncomfortable. Standing would
be better."
I stood.
"Yes? Go on. 'About last week-end'?"
"I...wanted to apologize. I-um never meant to offend...."
She held up her hand. "The offense occurred when you suddenly said,
'I just can't!' and defaulted on your debt (I believe they call it
'welshing'). At that moment, exactly how were you dressed? Hmm?"
I could feel myself blushing. "I...was n-naked."
"Then, don't you think you ought to be naked for your apology?"
Ohmigod! Naked here, in my office? I shivered, but I nodded.
(What else could I do? Compromise was impossible; either I did it or I
didn't. And if I refused, she'd simply walk out....) I took off my
shoes, and began unbuttoning my blouse.
She cleared her throat and said, smoothly, "I didn't hear you."
"I-I'm s-sorry..., Miss. Yes, I suppose I should be n-naked."
(Oh, god, my panties were already wet.)
So I stripped myself. No big deal, I tried to tell myself; after
all, she had already seen me naked. But I was trembling, all the same.
When I was naked, she picked up my keys and locked the rest of my things
in the horizontal file. Then she sat back and awaited my halting
apology. Half way through it, I remembered that, even an hour ago, I
was intending a civilized, adult discussion -- and now here I was, naked
and blushing and groveling like a child. When I'd finished begging for
her forgiveness, Emiko just sat silently for a bit, regarding me with a
blank expression. Then she frowned and nodded.
"I think you need a little 'quiet time' for medition," she said.
"Kneel down there...hands on your head." She got up, opened the office
door, pressed in the lock button, and snapped off the light. "Stay
right there; I'll be back." And she left.
I knelt there, thoroughly frightened, though it was too late for
students to be around and too early for the cleaning crew. But I was
not trembling just from fright, I realized, as the scent of my arousal
began to permeate the office. I hoped I wouldn't stain the carpet.
But I was straight, dammit...at least I had been ever since I was
old enough to know the difference. I'd just never met Mr. Right. In
college and grad school, I was maybe too picky...and, since then, my
"prospects" had dwindled to gays, nerds, alcoholics, and married men.
After a while, alone with my thoughts, my pride began to reassert
itself. It had been 15 years since Japan, after all, almost half my
life. And I didn't need that sort of thing any more; I was an adult
now. In the interim, I'd had a lot of accomplishments...academic
accomplishments. Why was I kneeling, naked, in my office, cowering
before a girl who was my physical and social and academic inferior? Of
course, I couldn't do anything now, but she'd be back.... I could
surprise and overpower her, get my keys back, regain my clothes and my
equilibrium....
But what if she knew karate or jujitsu or whatever? What if she
escaped and just left me here to be discovered by a janitor and, later,
to have to try to explain to the Dean why I shouldn't be fired for
"moral turpitude."
No, maybe I should just bide my time and wait for a better chance.
(And that wasn't merely an evasion or "special pleading" or convenient
excuse.... Was it?)
*********************************
I'd been kneeling there, in the slowly darkening office, for an hour
and 53 minutes (according to the luminous dial of my desk clock), when I
heard footsteps in the corridor -- and knew it was her. I didn't know
whether to be apprehensive or relieved.
Emiko opened the door and stuck her head inside the office. She
sniffed loudly and chuckled. "Wait about 5 minutes and come on down to
the faculty lot. The building is empty now, but it won't be long before
the janitorial staff begins work."
"L-like this? NAKED?"
"Yes. It's dark out. But I'd advise you not to dawdle."
And then she was gone.
I staggered to my feet and stood leaning on the desk for a few minutes,
trying to get my leg muscles unknotted. Then, full of exciting misgivings,
I left the office, letting the door lock behind me. I'd crossed the
Rubicon. Moving stiffly, I broke into a sort of staggering run.
Down the corridor to the elevators...a moment of indecision....
No, better use the stairs.... So then down the stairs, taking 2 or 3
at a time, my tits bouncing. Five flights, then a pause at the bottom
to gather my courage, a quick look round, then a dash for the western
side of the building and the exits nearest the faculty lot.
It was quite dark out -- except for the parking lot, which was
exceedingly well-lit (dammit!), and right in the middle of it sat Emiko,
behind the wheel of my car. With a pro forma glance to either side, I
scampered out onto the still warm blacktop and up to the passenger side
door. Locked! Double dammit!
Through the glass, I could see Emiko watching me and looking very
calm. I was getting frantic, though, desperately wanting to scream at
her to let me in, but not daring to raise my voice and risk attracting
attention. After what seemed like forever, she lowered the window an
inch.
"Oh god, let me in!" She just looked at me, impassively. "Please!"
Nothing. "Please, Emiko-san, please let me in.... I-I'll be...be a
good g-girl for you...a good maid.... Anything, everything...for as
long as you want. Please...."
Hearing the lock click, I pulled frantically on the door, but it
still wouldn't budge. Oh god! I was sweating and shivering at the
same time -- scared to death, with nipples erect.
"Back seat."
I hesitated a few seconds, only dimly aware of what Emiko's words
meant. Then I wrenched the rear door open and huddled inside.
"There's a garment on the seat," she said, as she drove out of the
lot. "Put it on if you want."
I couldn't see much by the dim street lights (and I certainly didn't
want to turn on the car's overhead dome light), but it didn't matter; I
pulled on the garment gratefully. I could tell that it was sleeveless,
very coarse, and very short. It would be impossible for me to run, bend,
or sit modestly, even if I had been wearing panties. Eventually, by the
garish lights of a cheap strip mall, I could see it was a loose smock of
pink burlap. It rasped across my nipples whenever I moved.
We were headed west. "Wh-where are we going, Miss?"
"A major reason why you have such a fetid swamp between your legs is
that unsanitary mass of hair. We're going to a professional to get that
taken care of."
At length, we arrived at a rather non-descript cottage on the far
west side, and I soon found myself trembling naked in front of a large
black woman in corn rows and purple lipstick. Her name was "Shaneel,"
but there was nothing soft about her.
Shaneel gave me a painful waxing, followed by an inhibitor
treatment that left me with a maddening itch that I wasn't allowed to
scratch. She seemed to enjoy seeing me cringe and hearing me whimper.
No money changed hands. I would repay Shaneel for the various cosmetic
treatments that she was to give me from time to time by personal service,
doing grunt work in her shop as required.
We spent that night at my house, Emiko sleeping in my bed -- in what
had been my bed -- while I slept on the floor. On Saturday morning we
went shopping at a distant mall. I was wearing only the pink burlap
smock. Being barefoot, I had to wait outside each of the stores Emiko
visited.
I spent most of Saturday naked, scrubbing her apartment until it was
meticulously clean. She would be moving into my house, and she wanted
to make sure she got her security deposit back. Late that afternoon, I
had to go grocery shopping at a bodega across town. I was dressed in
smock and "zori" (flip-flops) and was much admired by the greasy louts
hanging around the store. I fixed dinner for Emiko and me and ate mine
from a bowl, crouching on the floor beside her chair...of course.
On Sunday, we moved her belongings. It took only two trips.
That evening, she presented me with a gift as I knelt at her feet.
It was a puka clam shell necklace of small white shells, with a tiny
silver-gilt medallion engraved with the stylized Japanese chrysanthemum.
As she was putting it on me, she said, quietly, "You're not an Imperial
whore, exactly, but it's right that you wear their mark." She fiddled
with the clasp a moment. "The shells are strung on a tough, stainless
steel wire, and I've sealed the clasp with a drop of super-glue. You
could take the necklace off, but you'd destroy it in the process."
She was sitting on the couch, her midnight blue kimono agape and her
exquisite body, like a blush pearl, open to my gaze.
"Now, stand at attention and listen to me while I tell you just how
things are going to be...."
So I stood there, on my toes, sweating from the exertion and the
humiliation, naked (except for the necklace, of course), my cunt
drooling. And I looked and listened as Emiko toyed with herself and
described what the future would hold for us.
She would enforce a strict discipline. I would sleep in the tiny
spare room, on a thin futon, naked, of course. Every morning, after
awakening, I would play with myself until right on the edge of an
orgasm -- and then I must stop...or face the consequences.
(My clit seem to be twice normal size...and throbbing. She fingered
herself and smiled mischievously. I trembled, for I was so close to
cumming uncontrollably. And I didn't have pemission....)
Every morning, after masturbating right to the brink, I would have
to hurry to the Master (!) bedroom and into Emiko's bed, and wake her
up by tonguing her pussy. I must then give her as many orgasms as she
wants, and all the while my poor cunt is screaming at me.
(I was intoxicated by her words and the images they invoked. As I
continued to listen, my brain began multi-tasking, extrapolating and
embroidering her pronouncements into the continuing story of my
humiliation.)
After my mouth has satisfied her sufficiently, I stagger off to the
bathroom and squat on the toilet rim. I have to hold my pee until she
comes in to supervise me. And she usually starts running the bath
water, causing me unbelievable agonies, before finally giving me
permission to piss. If I have an "accident" -- now or at any time
during the day -- I will have to start wearing a diaper or a catheter.
When she's in the tub, I must kneel on the bathroom floor and watch
her bathe. I am allowed to wash myself only after my workouts at the
gym -- she says my body odor helps mask the stench from my cunt. I can
shower at the gym, and I may masturbate as much as I want while I'm in
the shower...though other women may walk in and catch me at any time.
I'm not sure whether the fear of being caught will enhance or retard my
orgasms.
After her bath, I continue to watch her. Her hair is too simple and
her makeup too subtle to require my help. But perhaps someday I'll be
allowed to assist. While she dresses, I put on the outfit she has
already selected for me. My own hair and makeup are conservatively
done, as usual. My clothes ditto, at least outwardly. But,
underneath....
Underneath, I must wear a tight t-shirt, but no bra...a butterfly
vibrator, but no panties...and, during my period, a tampon coated with
ginger, chili-pepper, or the like.
Emiko would play with the remote control to my butterfly, on and
off, on and off, throughout the day, tormenting my poor, swollen
clit. She might do it a dozen times in a school day -- sometimes more,
but rarely less -- and NEVER let me cum.
In my office, my comfortable chair is reserved for guests. I use a
hard chair, with a bristly door mat as a cushion, on which I must sit
bare-bottomed, my skirt pulled up around my waist. The furniture is
arranged so that no one is able to see that I am half-naked, but I am
still fearful...and horny.
Throughout the day, while I'm on campus, I have to drink lots of
water. So, regardless of how much I sweat (and it's plenty), I wind up
with a full bladder...repeatedly. And she has an uncanny ability to
withhold permission to pee until I just barely have time to scurry off
to the ladies' room and into a stall, remove my shoes, kiss the toilet
seat (as I am required to do), and squat on the rim....
She plans all my meals and rigidly enforces my consumption of nearly
4000 calories a day -- most of which I sweat off during my daily run,
regular grueling workouts at the gym, and occasional visits to the
beach and the tennis court. I had always been quite physically fit
(in a girly sort of way), but gradually begin to bulk up.... And my
sex-drive, meanwhile, increased exponentially. Emiko could joke that
this regimen must have my testosterone flowing like a torrent.
Wherever I am, I will always be dancing on the brink of an orgasm.
She will not unduly risk exposing me to a career-threatening scandal,
but refuses to allow me any other limits or any privacy at all. There
will be frequent parties, with guests -- always Japanese guests...both
men and women -- for me to "entertain." She promises that none of them
will have any connection to the university, but that all of them WILL
be demanding...imaginative...voracious....
*********************************
Emiko-san fell silent then and just regarded me for what seemed a
long time. I was trembling. My breathing was ragged.
At last, she lay back on the couch and beckoned me to her. My lips
brushed her belly and quested lower. Jasmine and sandalwood caressed my
nostrils.
I was content. Finally, after 15 years, I knew my place and had
regained it. I had come to realize that all my possessions and
accomplishments were transient baubles. This, too, was impermanent,
of course. Emiko would have her degree in less than 3 years. And what
would happen then? I had no idea, but I could think about that tomorrow.
Today, I was content to be content.
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