My Life as a Mail Order Bride

My Life As A Mail Order Bride
Copyright 2014 Natasha Koshkov

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1: Chapter 1

He wasn’t a people person. To be perfectly honest he didn’t like people at all. Not a bit. That wouldn’t have been a problem if he’d gone into, say, webpage design or stuck with his college course. But he’d been too blasé about the whole thing. Too much time sitting at home smoking weed and playing video games didn’t make for good grades. Now he was trapped. He was a manager, that was true, but being the 30 year old boss of a bunch of gawky 18 year olds wasn’t much of a pedestal for his ego. Here came one of the pimply-faced slackers now.

“Steve, some dude’s here complaining about his toaster”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I told him I’d get the manager. He seems kinda pissed”

Craning his neck to see the registers at the front he confirmed that the gentleman waiting there did indeed look ‘kinda pissed’. He sighed. The store had a no returns policy and it was always unpleasant trying to get that across to disgruntled customers.

He psyched himself up and strode to the front with an air of confidence. Sure, his last ninety-nine encounters with customers had ended in angry words and requests to speak with the owner, but maybe the hundredth would go differently.

“Hi, my name’s Steve. How can I help you today?”

“Are you the manager?”

“I am. How can I help?”

The lines in the customer’s face suggested he’d hit a half century at least 10 years ago. He was one of those people who, despite not actively frowning, certainly gave a convincing impression that he was. He was cradling the offending product in his arms as a more tender man might hold a small child.

“My name’s Tom, my wife bought this toaster for me on Monday. She bought the silver one and I want the white one”

“I’m sorry sir, but we don’t actually offer returns on our products. I’m afraid corporate’s very strict on that point”

“They’re basically the same product. Who’s even going to notice if you put this one back on the shelf and give me the other one?”

“Sorry sir, that’s not possible”

“You couldn’t just make one exception?”

“No means no”

Steve was rapidly becoming exasperated with the man. He’d always had a low tolerance for fools, although he felt like he’d reined in his temper a little since he’d started working in retail. Still, he couldn’t comprehend how it could be beyond so many customers’ mental capacity to understand that ‘no exchanges’ meant ‘no exchanges’.

For his part the customer also seemed to be becoming exasperated with Steve. He scowled for a moment then relaxed as some other idea occurred to him.

“Ok, I get it. You’re just the shift manager, you don’t have the authority to make any decisions. Could you maybe have a word with the owner of the store? I’m sure he’d be smart enough to know how to apply his policies.”

What the hell? Is this guy saying I’m not smart enough to run a shop? Jesus. There was no way he was going to mention this to the owner.

“I’m the highest authority here. Now if you don’t want to buy anything I’ll have to ask you to leave the store”

The man’s expression went from one of exasperation to outright offence. He spat some choice expletives at Steve and trundled back out of the shop.

For his part Steve returned to the back counter, still incensed by the man questioning his authority. Not to mention the implication that he wasn’t ‘smart enough’ to understand corporate policies. What a jerk, he thought to himself.

Alan the gangly, acne plagued teen was still leaning against the back counter.

“Another satisfied customer?” he enquired with a smirk.

“Get the fuck back to work” Steve spat.

His lack of grace with the customers had become something of a joke among the other employees. They were laughing at him, not with him and he knew it. It made him cringe to think what they must say behind his back if this was how they acted to his face.

2: Chapter 2

He finally handed over to the night manager at 5. It had been a long shift and he needed to let off some steam. Maybe he’d go see a movie. Ever since he’d been a teenager the cinema had been his favourite way to depressurise. He didn’t mind going by himself. It was nice to sit in the dark and let himself drift away into the stories on screen.

The theatre was stuffy but comfortingly familiar. It was busy for a weeknight, heads dotted sporadically around him in the sea of chairs. He felt the tension of the day flowing away from his mind until they sat in front of him. He was an older man with pale skin, greying hair and a noticeable paunch. His companion was his opposite in many ways. A lean young Asian woman, half his age at most.

What a waste Steve thought to himself. A beautiful woman wasted on that old man. It disgusted him. She was clearly a mail order bride – there was no way an attractive young woman in her early 20’s would have just ended up with a fifty year old white dude like that. He probably straight up bought her from some third world hell hole. It repulsed him that this sort of thing was going on in the world. The fact that he was single while these deficient old men could hook up just because they had cash was seriously straining his peace of mind.

The serenity of the theatre had been ruined now. Steve certainly wasn’t the type who could just shrug his shoulders and let it go. His angry thoughts continued to eat at him as the preview reel opened. The combined irritations of his day were like a pile of kindling just waiting for a spark to ignite them. They didn’t have to wait long.

As the first preview wound to a close Steve heard a low buzz emanating from the pair in front of him. The older man pulled out his cell phone and answered in a hushed tone, probably too quiet for anyone but Steve or the man’s companion to even hear him. But Steve did hear him and, on top of all the other annoyances he’d been through today it was too much. He tapped the man on the shoulder.

“Could you stop talking?” he whispered

“Sure, just give me a second. This is kind of important.” He turned back to his hushed conversation and something inside Steve snapped.

“No, listen to me,” He wasn’t yelling yet, but in the otherwise quiet cinema his raised voice may as well have been a shout. “That’s fucking unacceptable. Either put the phone away or go outside. And take your fucking imported wife with you,” he added for good measure.

Steve was oblivious enough to expect the other movie goers to at least be quietly grateful for his intervention against the man on the phone. He didn’t get a chance to gauge their apathy as the young woman accompanying his victim turned with fury in her eyes.

“How dare you!” she screeched in perfect, unaccented English, “That’s my Dad you fucking racist piece of shit. And even if we were married you should keep your redneck opinions to yourself.” Unlike Steve she was shouting and more and more of the other patrons were turning around to watch the drama.

“My mum came from China and she’s one of the most intelligent, hard working women you could ever meet. And you’d hate her just cos she’s from another country? I just wish people like you could learn to feel a little empathy.”

The usher had obviously been taking stock of the situation as he climbed the stairs to their level and his impression was rapidly confirmed on arrival. He politely insisted that Steve exit the theatre. Steve protested weakly. Deep down though he knew he’d let his temper get the better of him. He wasn’t sorry for judging the father and daughter, but voicing his thoughts had been a terrible mistake.

He was escorted out by another staff member and told not to come back. He slunk away with his tail between his legs filled with a peculiar mix of hate for himself and the people he’d just fought with. He didn’t want to stay out anymore; the night was ruined - although by him or for him he didn’t want to say.

3: Chapter 3

Frozen meals depressed Steve. They emphasised his inability to summon up the energy for cooking. They emphasised the fact that he was alone with no one to come home to. In their own small way they reminded him of his whole pathetic situation.

He collapsed in front of the TV with a microwaved side of veg and atrophied slice of beef crammed into a PET tray. He picked idly at his food. The episode at the theatre was still weighing heavily on his mind and he didn’t feel much like eating.

The TV wasn’t doing anything to take his mind off things. The news was droning on about a diplomatic stand-off in some place he didn’t care about. Click. He jumped to the next channel and the next until he found something mildly watchable. A trashy talk show. Eh, it was good enough. He wasn’t taking much in anyway, unless he really concentrated it seemed to go in one ear and straight out the other.

Eventually he gave up on dinner and threw most of it away uneaten. His appetite was gone tonight. There wasn’t much point watching TV either. Perhaps it was a combination of fatigue and stress but he was struggling to follow even the simplest one-liners on the show. If he really concentrated he could get the gist of it, but he didn’t have the patience. It was best to just go to bed. Tomorrow was a new day. Even better, it was his day off.

4: Chapter 4

It was a rough night and he felt far from rested when he dragged himself out of bed. He tried breakfast but felt full after three spoonfuls of cereal. He vomited after five. Great, gastro he thought to himself. Of course he’d only get sick on his day off. Within a few hours the vomiting had been joined by horrifyingly copious diarrhoea. He felt lighter by a few pounds after every gut wrenching motion. By midday it was still getting worse and he’d started to notice blood flecked chunks in the bowl after he went.

Oh shit, this could be bad. He carefully resisted the urge to panic but drove himself to the nearest hospital just to be safe. He dragged himself to the triage desk and struggled to explain his symptoms to a bored nurse. She threw his details into the computer and directed him back to the waiting area. As the pain in his belly built he stretched out across a row of chairs. He screwed his eyes shut and prayed that the colicky pain prowling through his gut would take a break.

He was brought back to the world by a woman in a tracksuit talking to him. He emitted a low moan and forced his eyes open to greet the stranger.

“Could you sit up? There ain’t any space to sit otherwise.”

“Huh?”

“I said I wanna sit down. You’re in the way though.”

He could hear the words but they just weren’t making any impression on his brain. It was like they were just a series of syllables running past his ear.

“I…want…to…sit…down. Don’t you speak fucking English?” said the increasingly irate woman.

He got it this time. He barely noticed the glare the woman was giving him as it dawned on him that he’d lost the ability to comprehend most of the chatter around him. He could still make out bits and pieces but most of the background noise was just like the woman’s first two requests – meaningless syllables that he heard but couldn’t comprehend. Forget about gastro, now he was scared that he was having a stroke. He needed to get back to the triage nurse and fast.

He felt a rush of light-headedness as he stumbled towards the desk. No more than a few steps from the chairs he felt an almighty rumble in his stomach accompanied by an excruciating stab of pain. He deftly changed course towards the bathroom, charged into the first stall and threw up again. As the bilious fluid departed his body he was overcome by light-headedness once more. For single shimmering moment the world seemed to drift and then it was gone. He didn’t even feel the impact as he hit the floor.

5: Chapter 5

He came to gradually, the cold bathroom tiles pressed hard into his cheek. It took a few seconds for him to recall where he was and what had happened. The pain in his belly seemed to have subsided and he didn’t feel at all like a man who’d just been punched into the floor by gravity.

He slowly climbed to his feet and immediately noticed that everything was wrong. With so many alarm bells suddenly screaming in his head it was hard to say what struck him first. Perhaps it was the fact that everything seemed half a foot taller than when he’d rushed in here, perhaps it was the air caressing his uncovered legs or the fact that he was now wearing a form fitting floral top over curves he hadn’t possessed a minute ago.

He rushed to the mirror, thankful that no one else was there to witness his panic. He gasped in horror upon seeing the face looking back at him. Rather than his usual visage he was confronted by a petite young Asian woman incredulously staring back at him. She wore her hair long and as he turned his head for a better look he could feel it cascading over his back. She had a cute rounded face with soft angles and almond eyes. Every expression of his growing terror was reflected perfectly in her.

He bought his thin brown hands up to his face. He twitched his fingers and saw the muscles in her thin, uncovered arms twitch in unison. He ran his delicate hands over her body. Tight stomach, plump breasts, hips flaring out under a short skirt. To an outside observer her breasts wouldn’t have been especially notable but on his own chest they seemed huge and alien, quivering with each small movement of his new body.

He was momentarily numbed by the shock and, in a brief flash of clarity it dawned on him that his new outfit had no pockets. That meant no keys and no way home. He glanced back into the stall he’d emerged from and saw something he’d missed before. A small black clutch bag sat on the floor. Studded with glittering rhinestone it was nauseatingly feminine, but he had to admit it suited his current ensemble and the undeniably feminine body he was trapped in.

He gingerly leafed through the contents. $10 in cash, an ID card which insisted he was a 23 year old girl named Ting Ting and a single house key. Well, at least I can probably catch a taxi home on $10 he thought.

He strut out of the bathroom with an unfamiliar and unintentional sway in his hips. He approached the triage desk and opened his mouth with the intention of asking where the taxi rank was. What came out was quite different.

“Yoow huff tahk-see near here?” he asked in heavily accented English. He was aghast at the mangled sentence that had left his lips and decided to try again.

“Yoooow kun tell where cah-tch tahk-see?” he repeated trying to enunciate each syllable carefully with his uncooperative tongue.

The triage nurse seemed to get the general idea of what he was asking for and pulled a photocopied map from the pile of material next to her station.

“Yooneetgoowtthfrntoorstrnlft, thnaftrahndredfeetsthtaksirank” she said. He thought he caught the word ‘rank’ at the end, as in ‘taxi rank’, so she must have understood. Fortunately as she spat out the incomprehensible directions she was simultaneously drawing the correct route on the map. When she finished she handed him the map.

“Y’understanwotaysed, huh?” she asked with a look of concern at the confused expression he was sure was plastered across his cute new face.

Steve nodded. As long as he had the written map he should be ok.

“Yes, thunk yoow vewy match” he replied.

He found the taxi rank easily enough. Walking around in this new body was weird though. He felt naked in this short skirt and contour hugging top. The occasional glance from other patients and staff of the hospital weren’t helping. They were mostly men and the looks they were giving him were far from innocent. He felt very small and weak.

Taxis constantly buzzed around the hospital and he had no trouble securing one. He jumped in the front seat as the vehicle pulled up.

“Wrdyawannagoh?” asked the driver.

“Eks-koos me? Kun reh-peet?” he minced out in his awkward English phrasing.

“Where…do…you…want…to…go?” repeated the driver slowly and deliberately.

‘I want to go to…’ Steve began to say only for it to come out as “Ay like goow tooo…” in his girly, fresh off the boat voice. He flinched inwardly but continued and repeated his address.

The taxi driver tried to make small talk on their short trip but even the simplest phrases were going right over Steve’s head. He mostly just bobbed his pretty little head up and down in mock understanding. He was relieved beyond words when the taxi driver gave up and drove in silence.

They pulled up outside an average suburban home and Steve paid the driver what he was due. As he climbed out he couldn’t help but feel that this wasn’t where he lived. But it had been the address he’d asked for, wasn’t it? He walked up to the front door with small ladylike steps and decided he might as well try the key from his purse. He was only slightly surprised when it turned in the lock.

6: Chapter 6

The door opened into a small entryway and corridor. It was a nice house, slightly older than his own place but not out-dated by an stretch of the imagination. He wondered if he was the only one with a key. Probably not he realised with unease. Still, this seemed to be where he – or at least Ting Ting – lived. He might as well explore.

He kicked off his shoes at the door and realised he’d just lost another inch of height by doing so. He was still getting used to everything looking like it was six inches higher up than it should be. He proceeded down the hall, examining the pictures on the wall as he went.

He passed five photos on the way down the hall. The first two depicted an older Caucasian man. He was balding badly and his glasses looked like they belonged in the seventies. Eugh, he thought to himself without quite knowing why. The next photo showed the same man with two younger men at his side. His sons maybe? It was the fourth picture that made Steve’s stomach drop.

It was him. Well, it was Ting Ting. He might look and sound like a hot little foreign chick but he and she were still entirely separate people. In the photo Ting Ting was cuddled up to the man from the first three pictures on a small love seat. The man seemed a lot more comfortable than she did, although it was clear that Ting Ting was trying to look happy.

The fifth photograph was of the two of them together in front of a monument he couldn’t identify. The man had his arm around her again. Is this my, I mean her, home country?

He took a few more steps down the passageway before it dawned on him that the man might be home. As much as he wanted to avoid him, he decided it’d be worse to be taken by surprise. He clutched his little black bag tightly and inhaled as much air as his petite lungs could hold.

“Hallow? Is uny-wun hoome?” he called. The softness of his yell even when he tried his hardest was almost as jarring as his inability to speak his own native language properly.

The silence that followed his call was an overwhelming relief. He continued to creep down the hall until it opened into a small living area with an attached kitchen. I should be cooking he thought. It took him a second to realise what a bizarre non-sequitur that was.

He continued around until he found the bedroom. An unexpected wave of déjà vu swept over him as he entered. He looked to his left and saw a large mirror next to the queen size bed. It was difficult to accept that the slim young foreigner in the short skirt and figure hugging top was him.

He decided to dig through the bedside drawers, the closet, everywhere and anywhere that could provide even the slightest hint of what was going on. The drawers were mostly full of junk, little trinkets, a pack of gum, condoms. Oh god he thought as the implications of that hit him. The drawers on the other side of the bed were firmly locked and refused to yield when he applied the miniscule amount of force his new body could muster.

The wardrobe was just one more reminder of what he’d been reduced to. On one side were neat rows of men’s shirts and trousers. On the other a series of revealing tops, short skirts and summery dresses. No prizes for guessing which side was his. Resting on the floor was a solidly built box the size of a large encyclopedia. He gingerly slid the lid off and uncovered the first potentially useful items in his search.

There was a passport issued by the Chinese government with Ting Ting’s name and face on the front. A sheaf of photos showing a young girl at school, with her family, with her friends. As he approached the end he realised these must be pictures of Ting Ting before she left China. He carefully replaced the contents of the box and pushed it to the back of the closet.

He wandered back out into the living area and again he was hit with a nagging conviction that he should be doing something in the kitchen. He decided that it’d be a better idea to leave before the house’s other occupant returned. If Ting Ting was his wife – and he strongly suspected that was the case – then he didn’t want to confront him looking like this. There were any number of ways that encounter could play out and he didn’t like any of them. He needed to get back to being himself.

To start with he should go back to his real home, there he could reason this out in peace without the fear that Ting Ting’s husband, or whoever he was, would barge in. He didn’t have keys for his place but perhaps he could call a locksmith to let him in. He scrounged around for spare change in all the usual nooks and crannies until he got together enough that he could get a taxi from here to his place. He didn’t have a mobile but that was ok, Ting Ting’s house was still connected to a landline. He called the taxi company, stumbled through what should have been a simple conversation in his broken English and went to wait outside.

7: Chapter 7

The taxi arrived in ten minutes. It was a long, uncomfortable ten minutes as she sat side saddle on the garden’s front wall and prayed that none of the pedestrians were looking at her.

She was glad for the shelter of the cab when it pulled up.

“Aye like go to…” she hesitated for a moment. Unbelievably, after five years living in one place she couldn’t remember her own address from before the transformation. Her mind scrambled for any clue. She used to live near a shopping centre. Maybe if she asked to go there the rest of the route would come back to her.

“Aye like go to shaw-ping please”

It was a short trip and before she knew it she was standing in front of the shops. The last of her money had gone to the taxi driver but she had a hunch that her old home was close enough to walk to from here.

She definitely recognised the shopping centre, that was a good start. Her eyes darted around searching for a landmark that might trigger her memory. She paced slowly around the outside of the mall scouring her surroundings for anything even slightly familiar. Just like at the hospital she was acutely aware that people – mostly male people – were looking at her in a way they never had before. She felt increasingly self-conscious as the gentle breeze caressed her exposed legs.

After circumnavigating three sides of the building she finally found what she was looking for. A service station on the far side of the road that she was 100% confident she used to walk past on the way to her house. For the first time since being trapped in this body she felt a glimmer of hope returning. Finally something was going right.

She wandered past the service station down a quiet suburban street. At the junction she recognised the cross street and knew she had to turn right. A smile began to spread over her face as she realised that the route was coming back to her. She remembered the way home!

Next there’d be a police station then she needed to turn again and she’d be at her house. As the police station came into view her smile broke into a grin. She started to jog. Even the disorientating sensation of her unfamiliar clothes and anatomy as she ran did nothing to dampen her enthusiasm. She turned at the station, slowing but not stopping. Steve hadn’t been an athletic man, but as Ting Ting it he felt like even that minimal level of endurance had evaporated. He slowed to a walk as he came down his street. This was it, finally a connection to his real life. It was three houses down, two, one, and he was there.

Her jaw dropped in horror. This was the house she’d just come from. It was her house, not Steve’s. She stood in front of the house panting from the run. She tried to make sense of how her brain could be so addled that she could try to find Steve’s house and end up at her own. No, she corrected herself, how she could try to find her own house and end up at Ting Ting’s. She felt like crying as despair engulfed her. After a few minutes she fought down the feeling and resigned herself to the fact that she didn’t have much choice except to stay here until she worked things out.

8: Chapter 8

A little before 6pm she woke to the sound of the front door swinging shut. As her eyes flew open she experienced a few seconds of terrifying disorientation before she remembered where and who she was. She froze on the bed as she heard footsteps coming down the entry hall. Shit, how could she have fallen asleep? She’d explored almost every cupboard and draw in the house looking for clues before she’d sat down on the bed to go through some old photo albums she’d found. She must have dozed and…from the living room a man’s voice broke the silence.

“Huni yahom?” She took that as ‘honey are you home’. It was becoming second nature to guess at meanings where she didn’t quite catch the words.

It was time to bite the bullet. The bedroom was a dead-end anyway, it wasn’t like she could hide in here. Still, it’d be better not to meet him lying on a bed. Better not to give him any ideas. She climbed off the bed, smoothed down her skirt and called back feebly.

“Hullow hun-ee” Shit, had she just called him honey? “Ay’m een here”

They met in the living room. It was the older man from the pictures in the hall. He looked like he’d just come home from an office job somewhere. If he sensed anything off about his wife he didn’t show it.

He walked across the room and hugged her. It was an odd and not altogether pleasant experience to feel the arms of a strange man wrapped around her slender waist. He leant in and she felt her pert breasts being squashed up against his chest. She drew the line when he went for a kiss, instead manoeuvring backwards in an effort to evade him. He looked slightly puzzled by her reluctance, but evidently not enough to say anything.

“Whathappenedtodinner?” he asked. At least he seemed easier to understand than most people she’d talked to today. Maybe it was because Ting Ting had spent more time listening to him, she thought. Regrettably it seemed that they shared a brain now.

“Ah, aye forget to coowk. So-ree,” the part of his mind that was still Steve cringed at his inability to speak like a grown up. She couldn’t help it though, there was a serious short circuit going on somewhere between her thoughts and her tongue.

“What…are…we…going…to…eat?” he slowly enunciated for her.

She wasn’t sure what bothered her more, that he was speaking to her like she was a moron or that she needed him to speak like that so she could understand. In either case she didn’t like the condescension in his voice.

“Cun haf levt-over een fridge” she said. The kitchen hadn’t been spared from her search for answers, she knew exactly what was in the fridge. Her husband – his name was Tom according to the mail she’d found on the coffee table – looked disappointed but agreed. As she turned to fetch dinner she felt a hand snake its way up her skirt and give her buttock a tight squeeze. She turned with fury in her eyes but he didn’t seem to notice. All she got in reply was a cheeky grin. She teetered on the edge of saying something acerbic, but realised it’d just sound childish in her broken English and continued to the kitchen instead.

9: Chapter 9

Dinner was an awkward affair in front of the TV. They didn’t talk much and – considering how easily Tom took that in his stride - she suspected this was how it always was for them. At the end of the meal she took both their dishes and washed up. Apparently that was what he expected and if she was honest with herself she was happy to escape into the kitchen to flee the awkward tension between them.

She was still fascinated by how petite her thin brown hands were as she scrubbed the dishes. Fuck, how am I going to get out of this one? There was no clear way forward. She needed to reconnect with her past life somehow. She knew who she was but it seemed like every time she reached out for specific details they retreated away from her.

As she pondered her limited options she felt arms wrap around her waist from behind. She gasped with surprise and almost dropped the bowl she’d been holding. As he pushed his body against her, she felt his throbbing erection through her skirt. The remnants of her male mind were making a last stand, telling her that a sharp kick to the parts being held against her was the way to go. But that enfeebled part of his psyche was overcome by a deep complacency emanating from Ting Ting’s increasingly share of this body’s thoughts. Just go along with it, let your husband have what he’s entitled to.

He spun her around. Ting Ting had to raise her chin slightly to meet his eyes. She suddenly realised how much power this man had over her. He leant down for a kiss and after a moment’s hesitation she capitulated. As they locked lips she took in the scent of his crisp business shirt mixed with the faintest whiff of his own odour. Her husband’s hands ran searchingly up her body, one cupping her pert young breasts, the other tugging through her jet black hair.

He pressed in closer, their bodies melting together like one. It was almost a dance as they groped and grabbed at one another’s forms. As they slowly, sensually slid around the room Ting Ting felt the hard wood of the coffee table against the back of her knees. She tried to guide her man back away from the obstacle but instead he gently lowered her down onto it. As she lay supine on the table and gazed up at his figure silhouetted against the kitchen lights. She didn’t know how to feel. Steve’s fear and disgust mixed with Ting Ting’s cool acceptance of the situation. There was even an element of anticipation, excitement at what Ting Ting’s baser instincts knew was on its way.

Tom attempted to pull her top off but the clothing caught around her head. Before Ting Ting could finish removing it herself, he lowered himself on to her and she found her hands pinned under his much larger body. With a veil of cotton over her eyes she could no longer see him fawning over her exposed chest. She felt him squeezing her tits through Ting Ting’s bra. She sensed his warm breath on her face even through the fabric. His weight shifted as he lowered his head and began to slowly lick around her collarbone. It was such a bizzare thing to do but combined with the way he was playing with her tits she was starting to get off on it. It was kind of nice to just lay here and let things be done to her. It was nice to be an object of desire, even a passive one.

She felt his hand run up her bare legs and a shiver raced down her spine. His hand caressed her thighs underneath the skirt, he kneaded and squeezed as her muscles tensed. He paused and whispered some soothing words to her, but between his excitement and her failing English comprehension she had no idea what might have been said.

Ting Ting arched her back as rough hands reached behind her. A brief moment of fiddling and her bra was unhooked. She winced as he tugged it away all too fast over her exquisitely sensitive nipples. All was forgiven a moment later as he began to suck on the nubs of her quivering mounds. First one, then the other. Pleasure radiated through her. Even the part of her mind that Steve had ensconced himself in was quieted by the sensation of Tom’s tongue playing over her hard nipples.

While one of his hands continued to entertain itself under her skirt, the other traced its way up her belly. Her abdomen tightened under her lover’s lingering touch. The unyielding surface of the table underneath her back and buttocks was beginning to hurt, but she wouldn’t dream of interrupting this experience for such mundane things. His weight shifted and Ting Ting saw his shadow move on the other side of the cotton top stretched over her face. The hand up her skirt pulled her panties down to her knees. She heard a zip being undone and before she knew it she felt her husband’s turgid member being dragged over her bare stomach.

His hands flipped the skirt up over her flared hips and with all the subtlety of a runaway train he abruptly rammed his swollen manhood into her emptiness. She gasped with a combination of shock and enjoyment as he began to pump. Her hips buckled back and forth as he hammered out a beat that Ting Ting felt compelled to match with her own rhythmic thrusts.

As her partner continued to move inside her, Steve’s voice reasserted itself in the back of his head. He’s not using a condom. HE’S NOT USING A CONDOM. What if I have to stay as Ting Ting? I can’t get pregnant. Just as Steve regained enough control to open his mouth with the intention of asking – begging even – Tom not to cum inside him he felt it. The sticky warmth of her partner’s potential future progeny shooting into her deepest places.

He withdrew, leaving Ting Ting shaking with a mix of orgasmic pleasure and fear of what her life was becoming. She pulled her top back down and watched Tom’s shadow recede into the bathroom.

10: Chapter 10

Ting Ting tossed the fifth one into the bin. One more she thought. Maybe all those tests had been faulty. Maybe the next one would fail to show the dreaded double lines of a positive result.

Who am I kidding? I may as well just accept it. Perhaps it won’t be so bad. Tom didn’t want her to work. Maybe a baby would add some sense of purpose to her days. Steve was never going to return to his old life. And anyway, being a housewife – even in a foreign country – wasn’t so bad. Maybe being a mother wouldn’t be so terrible either.

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Natasha Koshkov is a budding erotica author from Brisbane in sunny Australia. After a brief period as a professional nomad she decided to settle down and get a real job. Increasingly desperate for ways to employ her filthy mind, she has since turned her hand to writing erotic fiction. Please visit me at natasha-koshkov.com if you enjoyed this story!



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