Posted 07/00 ____________________________
| |
/)| KRISTEN'S BOOKSHELF |(\
/ )| DIRECTORIES |( \
__( (|____________________________|) )__
((( \ \ > /_) ( \ < / / )))
(\\\ \ \_/ / \ \_/ / ///)
\ / \ /
\ _/ \_ /
/ / \ \
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o o
o The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories. o
o They have been submitted by people from all over the world. Also o
o from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no particular order o
o other than offering them to you in alphabetical directories. o
o o
o All works are copyrighted to the author and may not be used for o
o profit without obtaining the author's permission in advance. o
o o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult entertainment o
o and should not be read by minors. o
o o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Yoko (MF, Adultery, Japanese people)
by Richard Rivers (richard_rivers@hotmail.com)
***
This story is intended for adults only please. If you received it via
email, it is not by or with the consent of the author. Feel free to
distribute it to any appropriate web sites so long as they do not
charge money for access.
This story is part of my ongoing series: Yellow Fever. Michiko,
another story in the series covers the same events from a different
perspective.
As always, I welcome comments and especially constructive criticism of
my work.
Many thanks to Mat Twassel for his help and very useful suggestions.
Richard Rivers
Yoko
Yoko busied herself in the kitchen putting breakfast on the table for
her husband and daughter. As usual, the family couldn't agree on
anything. He wanted Japanese style - soup, some of last night's rice
with fish - while Michiko wanted oatmeal. Yoko added miso to the soup
while keeping an eye out so the oatmeal didn't burn. All she wanted
for herself was black coffee.
>From the kitchen window, she could see the Bay Bridge rising out of
the fog. Somewhere below, Jonathan was making his way towards her,
shouldering through the crowd, damp wind whipping the tails of his
overcoat as he trudged up a hill. Or perhaps he was sitting in a
coffeehouse reading a book, engulfed by steam, cigarette smoke, and
the damp mist that billowed in every time the door opened.
Yoko's thighs tingled where the rough curly hair on his legs would
rasp when they fucked. Her hand absently slid along the countertop.
Hard muscles under smooth skin.
Behind her, Michiko was saying something. Yoko knew she should have
been listening - something about school, ballet class - but her
thoughts were divided between Jonathan moving inexorably through the
city towards her and the steaming pots on the stove.
After breakfast, Yoko occupied herself seeing her husband and daughter
out the door on time with everything they needed - briefcase,
lunchbox, last night's homework. When the door closed behind them the
apartment suddenly became quiet.
After pouring herself a cup of coffee, she sat at the kitchen table
watching the steam rise up from it, coiling as it disappeared. She
wanted to think about Jonathan and the things they would do together
that afternoon but her husband came to mind instead. When had he
stopped kissing her goodbye? Certainly, long before they had come to
America. Beyond that, Yoko couldn't say.
They met while she was still in college. He was a brilliant young
professor who also happened to be handsome and single. As his
graduate assistant, Yoko found herself in the enviable position of
working with him closely, but while all the other girls flirted with
him, she hung back. She never considered herself smart or beautiful
enough to be worthy of him, and she certainly didn't want to seem
foolish, acting the way the other girls did. It surprised Yoko more
than anyone when he began to take an interest in her. Unwittingly,
she had hit on the perfect strategy for attracting his attention.
Before they married their relationship was full of passion and
excitement. As new lovers they found it hard to keep away from each
other and they often had sex at work or in other semi public places.
For Yoko, the fear of discovery added to the intensity of their
lovemaking. In his office, with students waiting just outside the
door, his hands were all over her; on her breasts, her thighs; hot
kisses on the nape of her neck, running up the back of her legs.
After pulling off her panties, he carried her to his desk where they
made love with all their clothes on. Knowing someone might have
knocked or come in at any time, Yoko had the most intense orgasms of
her life. Sometimes he pulled her into a closet or a stairwell,
pushing her to her knees with one hand while undoing his pants with
the other. At first, Yoko was unsure what to do with an erect penis
literally shoved in her face, but she put her mind to the task and
soon improved her skills. She went so far as to rent pornography on
her own time in order to see what those girls did to please a man.
After careful study and regular practice, Yoko felt confident she
could perform as well as any of them.
Once they married things changed, although on the surface all seemed
well. Yoko had no complaints about their love life even if much of
the spontaneity had gone out of it. Spontaneous sex felt silly when
they had a comfortable bedroom to go home to. After graduating, she
chose not to pursue a career because Michiko was already on the way;
they began to see less of each other as her husband became absorbed
with his career and she with caring for their daughter. Yoko couldn't
help feeling left behind as his world expanded and hers contracted.
They were no longer as close as they had once been, and in time, she
began to wonder if he had found a lover.
Moving to America only made matters worse. After her husband accepted
the teaching position at UC Berkeley Yoko found herself cut off from
her friends and family. She hardly spoke the language and her world
closed in on her like the fog that so often descended on the city.
Even though she lived in the midst of San Francisco, on the edge of a
continent-sized country, it seemed to Yoko that her whole life had
become compressed into the one tiny apartment. She felt trapped with
her husband and daughter. In a short time she became restless and
unhappy. She resented her husband.
Yoko hadn't been actively looking for an affair; she wouldn't have
known where to begin. It happened unexpectedly, like a bolt of
lightning out of a clear blue sky.
At the end of the first term, her husband brought Yoko and Michiko to
the department Christmas party so they could meet the people he worked
with. Yoko felt ill at ease among so many jovial strangers. The
casual way Americans treated each other made her uncomfortable. They
called each other by their first names - even people they hardly knew.
Keeping track of all the new faces proved difficult for her. Everyone
looked the same and their odd sounding names flew out of her head the
minute she heard them.
Her husband made the rounds, introducing his colleagues one by one.
Yoko paid no special attention to the man until Michiko pulled at her
dress.
"Mommy! He has a tail, like a horse!"
Yoko quickly shushed her daughter who was pointing and laughing at a
man standing nearby. Although the girl had been speaking in Japanese,
it was obvious she found his ponytail comical. Mortified by the
girl's behavior, Yoko tried to think of the appropriate words for an
apology but she had already forgotten his name. To make matters
worse, what little English she knew deserted her under pressure.
The man smiled at Michiko, unconcerned with whatever the girl had said
about him. He was tall, with broad shoulders and blond hair in the
ponytail that had caught Michiko's attention. Yoko couldn't have
imagined someone who looked more foreign. Sensing her attention on
him, he looked up and she found herself gazing into the most startling
pair of eyes she had ever seen - gray eyes shot through with white,
like waves on the ocean. She stared into those eyes, unsure what to
make of them, captivated. There was something hard and steely just
below the surface, out of place with his friendly expression; as if
the light behind them had been blocked - the sun passing behind a
cloud. Yoko felt the shadow fall over her. She shivered.
Unaware of his effect on her, the man asked Yoko to translate what
Michiko had said. He spoke in a friendly tone, but the look in his
eyes made Yoko so flustered she had to turn to her husband to have him
explain it. He made a joke about his daughter's behavior and his
wife's poor command of the language and everyone laughed. For a
moment Michiko became the center of attention while Yoko remained
silent, feeling humiliated. Glancing up at him, she noticed the man's
eyes had never left her. When he saw her looking at him again he gave
her a little smile.
Over the next few weeks, Yoko could not get the image of the man's
eyes out of her mind. She found excuses to drop in at the University
whenever she could so that she might run into him again.
His name was Jonathan, and their first meetings were tentative. They
had few words in common, but Yoko knew they both felt that something
unspoken had been communicated between them. When their eyes met, her
breath caught in her throat, and she blushed like a schoolgirl. From
his body language, she knew Jonathan felt something too, but he was
holding back, keeping her at arm's length; her husband was a colleague
of his after all. Jonathan always treated her politely and with
formality although Yoko noticed his eyes looking her over with an
unsettling intensity when he thought she wasn't looking.
Yoko knew her husband's lecture schedule and she often arranged to be
on campus when he was busy, leaving her free to be alone with
Jonathan. When they were together, they did little but pass the time,
as if they both knew they were only delaying the inevitable. One day,
he gave her a tour of the laboratories, telling her the English names
for the equipment she already knew in Japanese. Another time, he
bought her coffee in the cafeteria and they sat, not saying much,
looking out the window. On a sunny afternoon, they had a long,
torturously slow conversation on a bench near the clock tower.
When she was alone, Yoko thought about him often, but she found it odd
that she could not say whether she found him attractive or not. She
could scarcely even remember what he looked like when she tried to
conjure up his image. Tall, blonde, an exotic-looking foreigner - but
those were only words. The man was something more. Those eyes -
haunting gray eyes she could never forget - they were impossible to
read; soft as clouds, but with the hardness of steel in them; laughing
eyes, but colored with the shadow of sadness.
One night Yoko dreamed of those eyes roaming over her body,
penetrating her clothing, laying her bare. She could feel them, like
feathers, or very soft fingers turning her over and over until every
part of her body had been touched. Yoko came awake in the middle of
the night, unable to move, her mind racing as the eyes continued their
gentle probing. Part of her pleaded silently for them to stop, but
that part of her was slowly overwhelmed. She felt like she was
drowning, surrendering herself to the warmth of the water, its
softness, letting it flood into the last part of her with the will to
resist, dissolving, until she felt herself becoming one with it. The
eyes sent out shoots, like tendrils that moved over her body; her
face; her breasts and thighs; her clitoris. Gently spreading the lips
to her vagina, they entered her and swelled, until she was full with
them, bursting from them. As Yoko lay beside her sleeping husband a
shocking orgasm swept over her, lifting her through the air,
shuddering, arching her back until she collapsed on the bed, her chest
heaving and every muscle in her body vibrating.
The next morning, she took a long hot bath, put on a new dress and got
into her car. Driving on the wrong side of the road the way Americans
did made her uneasy. She rarely took the car out, and when she did,
she hugged the curb lane, going well below the speed limit. That
morning Yoko felt the need to be daring. Crossing the bay bridge, she
rolled down her window and let the cold foggy air stream into the car.
She drove fast, changing lanes, passing cars on either side. By the
time she reached Oakland her hair was a tangled mess whipping across
her face and she was laughing.
On campus, she spent half an hour walking outdoors trying to calm down
and making sure her husband would be in his lecture before she entered
the department. When she got there, she found Jonathan's door closed.
Yoko stood in the hall staring at the frosted glass window, wondering
whether or not to knock. She began to lose her nerve. What if
everything she imagined about Jonathan had been wrong? It could have
all been wishful thinking on her part. Maybe he had only treated her
with kindness because of her husband. And what about her dream?
That's all it was, a dream; it meant nothing. Yoko stayed by the
door, going over everything they had done together, everything he had
said, looking for a sign that would tell her she wasn't crazy for
feeling the way she did.
Yoko had never seduced a man before. She had always been the object
of amorous advances, never the instigator. How do men do it, she
wondered? How do they time the leap from friendship to something more
intimate? Up until now, everything between her and Jonathan had been
so proper, so polite. She sensed there was something more, or at
least hoped there was, but the only way to find out for certain would
be to make the leap, and she was beginning to feel as if she didn't
have the courage to go through with it.
There were footsteps in the hall. Yoko wanted to turn away from the
door before anyone saw her waiting there, but before she could move
Jonathan rounded the corner. His eyes were down, examining a sheaf of
papers in his hands. And he didn't notice her. On seeing him, all her
doubts vanished. Yoko knew she wanted him; she would find the courage
to do whatever she needed.
Jonathan didn't look up until he had nearly run into her.
"Oh, hello," he said, in a voice that did not sound the least bit
surprised. "My, you look nice." He looked her up and down. "Do you
have a lunch date?"
Yoko shook her head. Her throat felt so tight she didn't trust her
voice.
"Well, do you want to come in for a minute?"
She nodded again.
Inside his office, Jonathan went to the desk and began placing the
papers he had been carrying into various folders, ignoring her
completely. Yoko stepped just inside and pressed her back up against
the cold metal doorjamb while she watched him work. It took him a
long time to file away his papers. She wondered if he was doing it on
purpose, waiting for her to say something, to make the first move.
She gently closed the door behind her, and he looked up when he heard
the soft rattle of the glass.
"Yoko, what is it?"
She still had not said a word to him. Looking into his eyes made her
forget all her English. If she tried speaking now she would lose her
nerve again and she would end up talking herself out of it. She had
to act before she thought about it any more. In two quick steps she
was pressed against him.
They kissed with such passion that her entire body felt as if it had
melted into his. Yoko had never experienced such a kiss. Jonathan's
arms clasped her tightly about the shoulders, pressing her breasts
into him. He was so much taller she had to stand on tiptoes in order
to reach his lips. She felt light in his arms, as if she might float
away if he let go of her.
They kissed until her lips felt thick and bruised. She wanted to
please him even more, to satisfy him completely. Breaking away from
the kiss, she sank down, growing heavy in his arms until she was
kneeling before him. When she touched his belt, he protested.
"Yoko…wait. What are you doing? The door…it's not locked…"
But she didn't stop, didn't look up at him or say a word. She didn't
want to talk now. She was tired, so tired of wrestling with this
strange, unnatural language, never knowing what to say, always using
the wrong word. There was only one thing she wanted to do with her
mouth, her lips, her tongue; it would be soundless, so easy and
direct, with no possibility of misunderstanding. The only sound would
come from him when she made him cry out in ecstasy.
Jonathan continued protesting as she undid his belt and trousers, but
his hands had given up. No longer trying to lift her by the
shoulders, they were resting lightly on the back of her head, stroking
her hair. When she freed him from his shorts, Yoko knew he wasn't
going to resist her any longer. His erection stood straight out, the
sure sign of his arousal. She touched his balls, soft and heavy.
Lifting them gently with her fingers, making him shudder.
Yoko knew she could surprise him with her skill. For all he knew, she
was a shy Japanese housewife with little experience. He would have no
way of knowing that she had worked hard learning how to please a man
in this way. She decided to show him, but not all at once. Starting
slowly, tentatively, as if she hardly knew what to do, she teased him;
first licking the underside of his shaft, then taking just the head
into her mouth. When her lips closed around him, she could feel the
blood rushing in, making him swell. His legs twitched - he wanted to
drive himself deeper into her but he held back, not wanting to force
himself on her, and Yoko continued to tease him until the twitching in
his thighs and pelvis had become a constant trembling throughout his
body. She looked up at him, but his gray eyes were hidden, closed
tightly; his head had rolled back. Closing her own eyes, she slowly,
very slowly, took him in.
Jonathan was bigger than her husband or any man she had been with
before. At first, Yoko did not know whether she could take all of him
or not. "Relax, relax, think of nothing," she told herself as she
went down on him. The tip of his cock felt hot as it slid over her
tongue. When it nudged the back of her throat, Jonathan gave an
involuntary start. For an instant, Yoko panicked, thinking she
couldn't handle him, but the voice inside her returned: "throat
relaxed, mind blank," just the way she had taught herself. "Yoko…oh
my god…" she heard him say as her nose burrowed into the hard muscles
of his belly, but he sounded far away, and her concentration remained
unbroken. When she had all of him inside of her, she remained very
still, holding him as long as she could before she needed to take a
breath. There was a soft tremor shaking his body and the heavy
pulsing along the entire length of his erection. A long drawn out
sound vibrated in his chest, an 'Ohh' that could have been 'Nohhh' or
'Yohhhkohhh'.
Yoko touched him just behind his balls and felt the pulse of his
ejaculation an instant before her mouth filled with the warm salty
sweetness. She swallowed what she could and let the rest fill her
mouth, spilling out onto her chin. She thought of something she had
learned long ago: "The softest thing in the world defeats the hardest
thing in the world." Who had said that? Buddha, Confucius? No, it
was probably someone else. Yoko had no idea anymore, but she had made
it her mantra when she first met her husband. Hers was to wait, to
give, to yield, to contain, and then this moment was hers. She held
Jonathan's cock in her mouth, felt it softening, giving up the last
sweet drops. He wanted to pull away, but she held him firmly in her
lips, feeling the dying throbs of his orgasm, knowing that now he was
hers.
Yoko took a sip of coffee, still warm, thick with cream. Jonathan was
on his way. Hers was to wait, to give, to yield, to contain. She
pressed her thighs together, imagining the warm slap of his
ejaculation inside of her. Everything of his she could not hold would
run down her leg in a sticky rivulet.
In the beginning of their affair, Yoko enjoyed the feeling of being in
control. Although she was pleasing Jonathan regularly, she knew he
wanted more - to make love, to fuck her - but she held back, only
giving him what she had given the first time. Finally she relented,
to her own desire as much as his, and she let him carry her to his
desk where they made the metal legs chatter and jerk across the hard
tile floor, not caring whether anyone out in the hall might hear.
Eventually, they began to meet in more comfortable surroundings - his
apartment, one of the fancy hotels downtown - and they made love in
every way imaginable. They wanted more and more of each other. Yoko
began to feel afraid, knowing it couldn't last this way forever, not
sure she could live without him. She wanted him in her own bed. He
argued against it, saying it was too risky, but she prevailed. Yoko
wanted to feel her knees, her elbows pressing into the floor through
the thin futon when he took her roughly from behind; to inhale deeply
the fragrance of the tatami mat with her face pressed into it.
She arranged so that on certain days Jonathan could come to the
apartment when her husband was away teaching. They had enough time to
make love for several hours in the late morning and early afternoon
before she had to pick Michiko up at school. Yoko always straightened
up very carefully, making sure no signs of their activities were left
behind. No one suspected anything, she was sure of it; nevertheless,
Yoko became uneasy, tinged with sadness, feeling the end with Jonathan
was near. She did not discuss it with him, and did nothing to stop
him from coming to her house even though that would have been prudent.
She wondered if on some level she wanted for them to be caught, for
everything to come out in the open. She felt poised at a crossroads,
waiting for something to happen. It would be difficult. She imagined
the scene when her husband discovered them - coming home early one
day, bursting through the door; she could imagine so many ways that it
would happen. And although she might never see Jonathan again, at
least her life would be her own again; there would be no more secrets,
no more hiding.
When Jonathan arrived he was cold and damp after spending an hour
walking by the waterfront. She made him tea and then they took a
stinging hot shower together. She loved the feel of his body; his
strong arms; the knotted muscles in his back; his hard buttocks. She
knelt and took his cock into her mouth and held it, feeling the warm
water pelt her forehead, his warmth inside of her.
On the futon, neither of them felt in the mood to be aggressive.
Perhaps it was the weather. Feeling sleepy, they began a slow,
languid fuck. Yoko brought her knees up so that he might penetrate
her more deeply. His thrusts were deep and regular, moving the entire
length of himself in and out of her. Grasping him with her thighs,
feeling the rasp of his rough skin, the hard muscles beneath coil and
uncoil, Yoko timed the rhythm of her body to his.
Jonathan's head lay buried in the pillow beside her head. As his
thrusts became more urgent, she could hear the deep muffled groan that
came out of him. His motions were spasmodic and trembling. His cock
knifed in and out of her until she felt his whole body go rigid. Yoko
shuddered as she felt the throb of him coming inside of her, then the
warm ticklish flood of his release that followed.
He breathed heavily, his chest pressing her deeply into the mat, and
Yoko stroked his back, his shoulders and hair, soothing his trembling
body. She felt herself swimming up from the depths. She didn't want
to break the surface, but there was no helping it, and it made her sad
that this moment of bliss had to be broken so soon. She hadn't come,
but that wasn't what drew her up, out of her dreamy state. The
realization came to her gradually, like the awareness of the dawn to
one who has lain awake all night; so that when she turned her head she
was not really surprised to see Michiko, her daughter, crouched in the
doorway, eyes wide, and a look of childish fascination on her face.
Yoko looked into her daughter's eyes. She felt helpless and
vulnerable, naked in front of the girl, trapped by the softly heavy
slab of Jonathan's body. He was still inside of her, oozing the last
warm drops of his come. He hadn't seen the girl; his face lay buried
in the pillow.
Yoko closed her eyes when she heard the soft patter of feet running in
the hallway. Jonathan still hadn't heard. She clasped him more
tightly, pulling him into her. He thrust weakly and she felt herself
gripping the dying hardness, trembling as if to wring the last warm
drops from him. The front door closed softly as Michiko went out.
Yoko came then, and her orgasm seemed to go on forever. Jonathan
regained some of his hardness and began fucking her, gently riding her
wave with his ebbing strength.
Yoko did not tell him what had happened. While he showered and
dressed she checked the apartment to see if her daughter had really
gone. When he was ready, they parted as they always did, with few
words. Only after he had gone and she was standing alone at the
kitchen sink did Yoko realize that the sun had burned away the fog.
Below her, the water of the bay glistened brightly.
Fin
Richard Rivers
12/99