Detained in NYC
Copyright© 2025 by Midori Greengrass
Chapter 17
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 17 - 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 White Male Oriental Female Oral Sex AI Generated
Jaguar
When the immigration policeman stopped her and demanded to see papers Akemi first voiced incredulity.
“It’s routine, will go quickly if you cooperate,” he said, irritated but not surprised by her initial resistance.
He asked for documents, looking at the first said, “See, this is out of date.” On second glance, “Okay, it’s been renewed. You should have told me.”
“I was going to but didn’t have a chance.”
The next was her Green Card, which she didn’t have with her.
He wasn’t finished.
“What else do you want?” Akemi asked, showing her impatience.
“I’d drop the attitude.”
“I don’t have one,” she protested. “You said this wouldn’t take long and I’m trying to move it forward. To help. What else do you want?”
“What else I want? First thing you could do is close your legs a little more.” They were parted as she sat beside him in the patrol car where he’d suggested they go to carry out the business.
Akemi’s legs looked almost orange against the red-orange fluted hem of the skirt. Direct late afternoon sun through the side window struck her skin, penetrated the surrounding shadow, a light effect she didn’t notice but his eye picked up.
He was saying he found that distracting, smiled, being funny, he thought.
Akemi said, “Okay, this is enough. If more interrogation is needed, I want it done by someone else.”
To her surprise, the cop didn’t reject the idea. He stepped out of the car to make a call.
Akemi saw that whatever else he was, he was a man. Until then, she hadn’t regarded him as anything but a cop. It might be that while carrying out his work he had something else in mind- maybe he hadn’t realized it any more than Akemi had- and was now feeling rebuffed, taking a moment to collect himself.
Returning in a moment, he said, “We’re going to the station.”
“You’re not serious.”
“You said you want someone else to interrogate you and that’s the only place it can happen.”
“But I’m busy.” She showed him the off-white cloth bag she was carrying.
“And there are some irregularities,” he continued. “Like your not having your Green Card.”
“Do I have to bring it to a dance class?”
“Looks like you’re going to miss that. Sorry.”
During the ride, the cop showed some sympathy. encouraged conversation. “Make things easier if you’re friendly.” And Akemi eventually obliged.
He asked where she was going and she said a dance class (“I told you”) and that she studied at college part time, not as a degree student. She described a project, assignment she’d been given to do research and that she’d decided to make hers on the city history. She’d use AI to compare the day she arrived there from Japan with the day her husband’s grandmother had almost a hundred years ago. What was the population of the city then and now? What countries were people from? On that day how many births and deaths were there? Things like that.
Hearing she had a husband, the cop named Tommy asked about her life with him and Akemi assuaged his curiosity with an account of dropping off Mitchell’s cat at a vet with boarding facilities for the two weeks they’d travel to Japan and that he’d told the vet he handed the rough-furred animal, “He can lash out but doesn’t launch sustained attacks. You just have to be on guard.”
The vet said she thought living in a stable environment of the kind he and Akemi had established helped an animal like that settle down.
Akemi thought of Mitchell’s nickname for her: the Jaguar.
This was after the thing with Nelson happened and she showed she could be one.
The hotel wasn’t in a residential area and the street smelled faintly of car exhaust from the evening commute— neither Akemi nor the man she’d come to visit were part of that. They’d side-stepped the nine to five thing, Nelson as an accomplished artist and Akemi as an aspiring one supported by her husband. Akemi adjusted the hem of her violet halter top—the one Mitchell joked about, said made him crazy—while staring at the flyer in her hand, the one Nelson had given her at the theater and she’d kept neatly folded. Mitchell liked running his hand along her bare shoulder, playing at the length of fabric pulled taut, working his hand under it, undoing the tie above the middle of her back, so the whole thing would fall free in one piece and then he’d “go to town,” a figure of speech Akemi found baffling but accepted as funny, American. Voila. He might say that too. Use French. His friend Nelson wouldn’t. All-American. Known as the quintessential independent film maker representing his country.
Nelson wasn’t used to polluted cities and didn’t like them and stated the fact plainly, proudly, had deigned to visit that one for a screening of his work, to put in an appearance- seeing Akemi a happy extra. Of course he’d also been glad to meet Mitchell, former student now a pal in touch from across the country. Nelson valued their friendship. But the thing happening with his wife was something different. A “force majeure” Mitchell might have called it if aware.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.