Detained in NYC
Copyright© 2025 by Midori Greengrass
Chapter 1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - An artist is caught up in the dragnet.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa Ma/Ma NonConsensual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Cuckold Wife Watching Oral Sex AI Generated
Akemi sits on a hard plastic chair that looks like it came from an old conference room. Fluorescent lights are too bright and cold. The floor of the government building feels unfinished, like an office space turned into a makeshift detention center using folding partitions, desks pushed aside, and security tape marking areas no one really pays attention to. The air smells stale, like an office no one is responsible for.
Her red origami-fold skirt pools around her knees. She smooths the fabric by habit, a way to stay grounded in a place where nothing makes sense.
The officer who brought her in leans against a file cabinet, arms crossed. He is taller than her husband, broad-shouldered, built like someone used to physical work. His black hair is cut short on the sides, slightly messy on top. His eyes are a striking blue, a cold color that gives him an unsettling handsomeness.
His uniform shirt is slightly untucked. His shoes are plain black leather, scuffed at the toes but wiped clean on the sides.
His pants are standard navy uniform pants, stiff and creased. They fit him well. Akemi notices this quickly, in moments when she can’t quite meet his eyes. She looks away at once, feeling embarrassed.
The confusion of being detained, the bright lights, and the cold room make her thoughts wander in strange directions. Small details seem too clear. A peculiar flicker of attention catches her awareness, something she doesn’t want to name. Each time it happens, she pushes it down, forcing her focus back to the present moment.
“You know,” he says, nodding at her skirt with a smirk, “that’s ... quite the outfit. Don’t see many of those around here. Looks expensive. Fancy.”
The way his eyes move is what unsettles her—the slow, drifting travel down her legs and back up, lingering too long at her waist, as though he’s examining something fragile he might pocket. His gaze feels like fingers.
Akemi lifts her eyes. “Thank you,” she says carefully. She cannot tell whether he is complimenting her, mocking her, or testing what kind of reaction he can get. She wonders if the flash of red caught his attention on the street, if that was why he stopped her while she walked home from the grocery store. If this is all the result of one man noticing something bright and unfamiliar ... or something worse.
“Why am I here?” she asks. It is the third time. “You saw my documents. I am here legally.”
He shrugs, casual as a yawn. “System flags people sometimes. Happens. Especially with”—he gestures loosely toward the room full of detainees—”them.”
“But you did not tell me that before.”
He flashes a thin, crooked smile. “Didn’t want to confuse you. Figured your English might not be ... up to the technical stuff.”
He’s being frank, taking her into his confidence, dropping the professional tone for the moment. She sees he doesn’t do this with other detainees.
Yet his tone suggests he enjoys imagining her confusion.The words land with a sting she does not show. She sits perfectly still.
From the other side of the room comes the low murmur of families and exhausted men slumped in chairs. A woman sobs into a child’s jacket. Most of them look defeated long before any process has begun.
The officer looks over at them with open disdain. “You’re different,” he says. “Not like most of the folks who show up in here. A lot of them just ... sneak in, think we won’t notice. Half of them can’t read their own paperwork. But you—Japan, right? Educated. Polite. You’re not here because you’re desperate.”
He says polite the way someone else might say obedient.
Akemi stiffens. “Everyone here is a person,” she says quietly. “Everyone deserves respect.”
He snorts as if the idea is naïve. “Sure. Sure. I’m just telling you how it is.” He flicks his chin toward a group of frightened men. “They come from places where nobody follows rules. So we don’t expect much.”
His job gave him a sense of power, though he knew deep down he was just a laborer, doing routine work. The new administration had handed people like him more authority, more freedom—and he savored it. Still, he was a small piece in a bigger game, his life ordinary despite the cowboy act. Sometimes it bored him—but mostly it fed his aggression. That afternoon, seeing Akemi on the street, something snapped. She cut through the dullness, sharp and bright, and he wanted her. He didn’t just notice her—he saw her, and it made him move. Her figure stood out on the corner, the sun seeming to pick her out against the gray. Small, lively, black hair sharp, face almost cherubic, perfectly symmetrical, neutral but charged with concentrated potential for feeling. Without thinking, he stepped from the squad car and grabbed her, certain he was in the right. He wasn’t a kidnapper; he was a federal agent enforcing immigration laws. He didn’t know her status, but she was clearly foreign—and that was enough.
He’d never met much less arrested or otherwise touched a woman like her, Asian, that is, though he’d enjoyed some online as distraction from his wife Sophie, who was in fact not bad looking herself.
He barely considers whether any of this should matter; it doesn’t. On the drive back to the detention center, he laughs at himself, lets out a yawn behind the wheel. She’s another person in custody, nothing more, though her presence registers as something he hasn’t encountered before. New. Maybe he hadn’t slept well the night before, Akemi observes from the back seat. She’s determined not to cower but to match her own will against his assumed posture, the blunt, unquestioned authority he wears without a second thought.
He’s decided to look out for her, take a personal interest. No, he didn’t decide that. His desire made the decision for him. He feels almost a little dizzy in her presence, though he would never let
He taps his badge again, lightly, almost fondly—not speaking the thought that flickers behind his eyes, the one that suggests he considers himself exempt from the rules he’s accusing others of breaking. There is a faint gleam of self-importance in the movement, a man performing confidence he doesn’t actually possess. But beneath that—she feels it more than sees it—there’s no depth waiting to surface, no hidden softness or searching doubt. Only a flat, unquestioning need to assert himself, as if taking something from her—attention, deference, anything—might settle a vacancy he’s too blunt to recognize in himself.
His gaze returns to her skirt—then higher. He looks at her with a softness, almost a warmth, that frightens her more than open hostility would. It is a friendliness too private, too intimate for this room, as if he is sharing a secret that she never agreed to know.
Akemi clasps her hands together tightly.
She thinks of her studio, of the canvases leaning against her wall, of the faint smell of linseed oil that greets her each afternoon. She thinks of Mitchell—her husband—how he must be checking the time, wondering why she hasn’t answered. How he must be replaying her last words, trying to guess where she went.
“My husband will be worried,” she says. “He will not know where I am.”
“Relax,” the officer says, dismissive as a tired waiter—yet the smile he adds is slow, knowing, almost private. “We’ll sort it out. Eventually. No rush.”
But he makes no move, does not check a computer, does not speak to a colleague. He only watches her. Watches her in a way that makes her want to fold inward.
Akemi draws in a steady breath. She feels the folds of her skirt with her fingertips—precise, delicate, deliberate. She wishes, suddenly, she had painted this moment instead of living it. A painting can be changed. Real life cannot.
They’d spent time apart before they married, deciding whether they really wanted to take the step, were agreed not to see each other for a while. But one day on impulse Mitchell went to visit Akemi, just showed up. She was surprised but welcomed him. They went to bed and enjoyed kissing, embracing. Before going further, Akemi had said to him, “I should tell you. I slept with someone else last night, and it was interesting because...”