She was liked by Commander Wheeler, the commandant of the club. And she liked Commander Wheeler.
Six months earlier, she had knocked on the Commander’s door and hearing no answer, entered to tidy his suite. The Commandant’s suite was at the far end of the third floor, well apart from the other suites used for visiting admirals and senators. As she straightened the bed, the Commander unexpectedly entered from the bathroom, clad only in bright red silk pajama boxer shorts and wearing a gold watch. Startled, she apologized,
“Commander Wheeler, I am so sorry, sir. I did not realize you were here, sir. I will come back later, sir.”
“Nonsense, Miss Okino. I’ll be out of your way in just a sec,” Wheeler generously drawled in his South Texas accent.
“As you wish, sir.”
Miyuki had averted her eyes to the floor and had instinctively placed her right hand in front of her mouth, palm extended, with her elbow by her side. But she could not avoid admiring his muscular chest and arms, and—most important—she let him see her admiration. Wheeler was old money Texas oil, or as old as Texas oil money could be—his grandfather was one of the original wildcatters who had arrived in Texas with the clothes on his back. Commander Wheeler was a polo player and was admired—with a touch of envy—by his brother officers. But his generous nature and genuine friendliness quickly won over most officers and all the wives with whom he was both polite to the point of chivalrous and entertaining to the point of flirtatious.
Like Miyuki, not a few of the wives had also noticed Wheeler’s body. A few white scars that stood out on the well-tanned body; a touch of chest hair—“to show he was a man,” the wives gossiped; an exceptionally well-developed chest; and arms that women did actually talk about.
Prior to her knocking on the door, Miyuki had removed the two small squares of thin rubber sheet from between her starched white uniform and her brassiere. In her little room, Miyuki had amended the front of the brassiere so there was a hole on each cup about the size of her thumb, to allow her generous nipples to protrude. By using the dodge of the rubber squares, Miyuki was able to walk around the servants’ basement and the club just as prim and proper as the kindergarten teacher she once was, but in Commander Wheeler’s suite, her two nipples were prominent and impossible to miss.
While she was straightening the bed, she was careful to take time at the foot of the bed; the foot faced the bathroom that was in truth larger than her entire little room. While fussing, she had leaned over the bed, her legs slightly apart for balance, and, sadly, the skirt of her starched white uniform had ridden up her legs to show the bottom of the garter clips. She did not finish the bed straightening until she was sure that Commander Wheeler had a long view of her legs.
Wheeler crossed his arms to further emphasize the size of his chest. Miyuki affected a blush and was genuinely getting excited. Apart from a growing, warm dampness, she could sense her nipples swelling. Wheeler was looking directly at her nipples on her large chest—a very generous D cup. Miyuki bowed her head and looked at the floor. Her extreme passivity excited Wheeler—here was a young woman, clearly aroused and simply waiting to be taken and ravished. While looking at the floor, Miyuki could just glimpse the swelling in the silk pajamas shorts she was hoping to see.
“Miss Okino, how long have you been with us now?”
Still firmly looking at the floor, “Just under five years, sir.”
“And are you happy here with us?”
“Oh yes, sir; this is so much better than my last job in the Philippines working for an English planter. The master’s wife there would beat me, and they were both very cruel. I love working here and working for you, sir. Everyone is so nice. The American people are so much nicer and friendlier than the English, and the food here is so much better. Oh yes, sir, I love it here; I would do anything to stay.”
By this stage, Wheeler was standing directly in front of her, so she could see the top of his pajamas and his developing masculinity. He put his hand under her chin and slowly lifted it. She raised her chin and looked into his eyes, as softly as she could. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders and slowly ran his hands down her arms. She pursed her lips and opened her mouth and started a very slight panting. Her nipples were doing their part in the seduction, and were now proud of the holes in her brassiere and formed two rather large bumps on the starched white jacket.
Wheeler was an experienced hand at this, the oldest of rituals. But Miyuki knew, even better than the white man, the steps in this rituaclass="underline" first the blush, then the nipples, then the slight panting, leading to more panting. All the time, Miyuki’s desire was to simply have him push her onto the bed and ravish her. But, that could be a story that Wheeler might find a little too obvious when he reviewed his latest conquest later. So Miyuki simply increased the tempo of the panting.
Sure enough, Wheeler took her hand and placed it on the now fully tumescent lump in the pajamas. Without speaking, Miyuki knelt on the floor and undid the string of his pajamas. She was pleased to see he was cut—she hated uncut. The English planter was uncut and as a consequence he smelled terrible down there, and the English planter was big, and he did what all women hate most—he used her hair as if her hair was a handle, and her head as some kind of machine.
In contrast, the American was a gentleman, and an experienced gentleman at that. He knew that while ravishing an employee or servant, or even a whore, there was a certain protocol that it was polite and proper to follow. And it was more than just polite—giving the girl a good time and the noise and the arching of the back and sometimes even her legs folding under so her heels touched her hips, all this was the most enjoyable part. And he loved to see his conquests perspire as lust took over.
Miyuki was sure to use just enough teeth to elevate Wheeler’s excitement, but not too much to have him complete early in her mouth. After a few moments, and without being prompted, Wheeler pushed her onto the bed.
Miyuki said,
“Sir, can I take my uniform off first? Please, sir?”
“Sure thing.”
Miyuki quickly stripped to her stockings and garter belt—she was anxious for Wheeler not to see the brassiere. She folded her clothes and, for the first time, took the initiative and climbed on top of the big Texan. She rode him as hard as she could, emitting what she judged to be the best level of panting and groans—enough to keep him excited, but not too much to have him become apprehensive. (Her second concern was actually groundless—Wheeler boasted to anyone who would listen that he would “fuck any piece of ass I want, and no one was going to stop me.”)
Miyuki relaxed and let herself actually climax twice before she felt Wheeler tense and finally complete inside her. He was a strong and virile man who took a good 15 seconds to complete the elemental act. She was clearly pleasing her commandant.
“Sir, let me get you a warm towel,” she said jumping off the bed before he could stop her.