Detained in NYC
Copyright© 2025 by Midori Greengrass
Chapter 25
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 25 - 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
Some ten days before Nelson’s arrival in the city for the screenings celebrating his film work, Akemi went to Mitchell’s office at the college. They had both finished their day- she’d taken a class that afternoon- and would leave together. At the time he happened to be talking to a coworker who was a professional dancer and taught as a fallback, having turned forty saw he needed a steady income and benefits. Mitchell introduced them, thought Akemi would be interested, and she was.
“This is the guy I told you about, who boxes for exercise.”
Mitchell had learned recently about the sparring practice his colleague had taken up and said provided an excellent workout.
“Nothing I’ve ever done at the gym produces as much sweat in as short a time.”
It had never crossed Mitchell’s mind that boxing might be anything beyond giving and taking punches. The news that Chris went in for it came as a slight surprise, given the guy’s character, far from pugnacious. A peaceful, gentle soul, he reminded Mitchell that even an artist can be tough, physically as well as mentally. Think of male ballet dancers. You don’t find many more fit, hard-bodied than that. Seeing Chris and Akemi talk made Mitchell uneasy. Nothing uneasy. He’d learned to ignore jealousy, ripples or waves that sometimes washed across him. Like nausea, it passed.
Chris wasn’t gay but straight, in fact one of the most virile guys you’d ever meet, tall, erect. His posture marked him as a dancer. And Chris could see from how Akemi stood that she danced too. Her feet turned out, something like that Mitchell could never put his finger on- the stance reflected training, discipline. She took classes and was serious, worth talking to on the subject, recognizable as an equal by Chris, who, for all his pacific nice guy kindnesses (genuine) didn’t brook nonsense, showed a strong aversion to wasting his time- which Mitchell figured with his usual self-disparaging humor might partly explain why he and Chris had never become friends.
Akemi asked Chris where he’d gone to school and he told her and it turned out he’d been to an elite dance academy, also an Ivy league college.
Akemi was impressed. Mitchell as well. He hadn’t known. He’d been eager for Akemi and Chris to meet, thought they’d have things in common, and they did, maybe more than Mitchell found comfortable. As they stood facing, taking to each other enjoyably- he taller than her, of course, but matched in strength of character; and her lovely tits pointing at him through the soft white jersey she wore were, well, lovely- Mitchell felt a little out of it. They were both artists, though of different kinds, while he didn’t make any art at all.
He felt much the same after introducing Akemi to Nelson, the famous film-maker and his former teacher who was interested in Akemi and her painting, avidly interested.
She was teasing, demanding, in a way Mitchell also knew, the halter top she wore that afternoon something else he liked, violet swath of fabric where light coruscated, pooled, refracted, that drove her husband crazy and his friend now too.
Akemi hadn’t thought of that before.
Did she then? Not directly but maybe like a half-remembered dream, one summoned by Nelson’s kisses, which came relentlessly as rain, the kind that’s intermittent at first but doesn’t end, strengthens, finally overwhelms. She couldn’t hear herself think was the truth of it. She might tell her friend Kaori later and might not.
“Later.” Nelson shrugged off the reminders of the tea he had invited her to drink with him, insisted she stay and try rather than turn around and leave the hotel room she’d traveled across town to reach.
“Later,” he repeated when Akemi looked at him wonderingly.
“But you have to do work later.”
“Too good.” Nelson shook his head, then petted Akemi’s head to show he didn’t mean the scolding seriously and that he was glad she’d attended his words.
“What is?”
“What’s good?”
Akemi nodded earnestly.
Nelson paused and laughed. “Your memory!”
He gave the conversation another serious turn.
So many people don’t listen he’d said, complaining before about the audiences who came to his screenings but sometimes tuned out during his talk afterward.
He wouldn’t let her tune out, he said to Akemi with his hand pawing her face.
Her eyes were on him, were wide open, still awaiting an explanation of his change of heart. Merciless in a way he loved.
Nelson shook his head brusquely, saying in effect some things can’t be explained.
Akemi’s hand had lifted during this exchange and alit again, increased its strength on him, her growing confidence reaching there. His pale blue pajamas had darkened a spot cum had already reached.
“You asked if I’m okay with this. Are you?” A serious question.