A Soap Opera: My Year of Living Dangerously (With Asian Women)
Copyright© 2025 by Asiansexfight uncensored
Chapter 8: Yuki and Akemi
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 8: Yuki and Akemi - Those long-running TV afternoon time fillers. They consist of implausible plots, caricatures of perfect people wearing designer clothes, are filled with ever-changing feuds, backstabbing, shifting relationships, and characters who appear briefly when needed but then disappear without reason, and poor acting. But even though we know all this, we become hooked and go along for the ride. Here is a Soapie of my year living dangerously with sexfighting Asian females.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Coercion Consensual NonConsensual Slavery BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Workplace Cheating Slut Wife Incest Mother Daughter Humiliation Group Sex Interracial White Male Oriental Female Anal Sex Double Penetration Exhibitionism Fisting Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Squirting Voyeurism Big Breasts Body Modification Cat-Fighting Revenge
This can be read and enjoyed as a stand-alone story, but deeper character depth and the effects of the plots, rivalries, twists and turns will be found by reading the chapters in order.
I was ploughing into Iku’s 18-year-old daughter, Yuki, as she lay on her back. But this wasn’t your normal run-of-the-mill, leisurely missionary fuck. She had her hands gripping the back of her thighs, pulling her legs back and up so her knees were touching her ears. This, of course, gave me a wide-open cunt to enter and allowed deeper penetration. And I was taking advantage of that now that I had decided to be more in charge instead of allowing first my Vietnamese wife, Nguyet, then my mouse turned lion, Vietnamese secretary, Mai, to control me via the sex they rationed out.
With Yuki positioned on her back on the office couch, I grabbed her ankles. She whimpered as my shoulders held her legs up and back, folding her until her knees pressed against her ears and her arse lifted clear off the cushions. Her lasered-smooth cunt was completely exposed, pink and glistening, and her tight arsehole winked up at me from below it.
I had put on my Dr Johnson Mark IIA cock ring before we started, so that now the thick silicone band was tight around the base of my shaft and balls, keeping me rigid and making the veins of my cock stand out more than usual. It also had a new feature over the standard Mark II: a small nub on top that pressed against her clit when I bottomed out.
I was going against Mai’s explicit instructions of giving her stimulation before she had earned it. But what the fuck. Today was the start of me becoming my own man. For too long, I had accepted what, firstly, my wife, Nguyet, and then Mai had given me when I wanted and deserved more.
The Dr Johnson Mark IIA brought back memories of when these repressed thoughts started to grow legs. I had attended a government seminar about upcoming changes to investment laws, tax-deductible, of course. Because it was a 70% government-paid junket at the beach resort of Lorne, you had to sit in the same seat so you could be marked present at all sessions and not just take their money for a midweek holiday.
It was my misfortune to be seated next to Greg from Greg’s Elite Accounting. He was in his mid 40s, though he claimed to be 33, overweight, had a thin comb-over, and was dressed in a way that made everyone else attending look like fashion plates. He had had the good luck to have had his business in Springvale, near where the government located one of the Vietnamese boat refugee camps. When they started their own businesses, he was the only accountant available. It didn’t last for long, as when their older kids topped Year 12, went to the number one uni and became accountants, they ditched him like a used condom.
I have never heard someone talk as long or ramble from one topic to another as he did. Even worse, I couldn’t move away due to the random government seating checks to see if you were there. So, in between his huge mouthfuls of pineapple-glazed donuts from a bag he always had with him, I listened to how he was creating a financial empire, even though I knew his present office was above a Vietnamese takeaway that you entered from stairs at the back lane. I listened to how that Asian woman in the next row was definitely sizing him up and fancied him, how his best ideas had been stolen and used by others, whether I liked threesomes, and so on. Christ, he never stopped for the three days we were there.
But mixed in among all his semi-incoherent rubbish that was so ridiculous you couldn’t stop listening, wondering what the next thing his mind would fasten onto, three things stayed with me. The first was the Dr Johnson Mark IIA, which was, to quote him, “Much better. Just like John Holmes’ cock was compared to other porn stars.” He was right. The second was his choice of female Porn stars, and I, too, have become a fan of Tia Ling.
The third thing that had sat in my mind for a long time was, “To think with your cock, not your brain. Do what you want.” It made me realise that what I had been doing had been wrong. Logically, it was best to accept Nguyet’s and now Mai’s scraps they gave me rather than have nothing, but my cock wanted more. I decided to let my cock decide what I was going to do. I wasn’t going to follow Mai’s plan for Yuki and then her mother. I would be ruled by what my cock wanted, starting now. Of course, it was easier to be brave with Mai chasing business in Sydney, taking Nguyet to be used as a honey pot.
“Please,” Yuki moaned, her voice cracking and bringing me back to the task at hand. “It’s so deep like this. You’ll split me.” But I could tell she wanted it, and these were just words.
I realigned my cock, which was already throbbing and purple from the ring’s constriction, and pushed forward again. She gasped, and her hands scratched at the couch leather as my shaft drilled her cunt. I kept pressing, feeding her inch by inch, watching her piss lips stretch around it. When I was halfway in, she let out a long, guttural groan that started in her throat and kept coming. It wasn’t pain that was causing this. She wanted it.
I grunted and pulled back slightly, then thrust forward, burying the entire length in one stroke. Yuki gave a high-pitched wail that morphed into choked gasping, which turned me on even more. Her cunt was impossibly tight around me, but Dr Johnson Mark IIA made me know I would last, and I was feeling every flutter and clenching of her inner muscles. I was in a good place.
I settled into a rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. Each thrust ripped a grunt from my chest and a moan from Yuki. It was obvious that they were moans of pleasure. She wasn’t speaking words any more, just making desperate, breathless sounds.”Uh, Uh, Ungh,” each one punched out of her by my hammer blows.
“Fuck, you’re so tight, so wet, so good.” I groaned, and it wasn’t bullshit as I felt my cum build. The cock ring was doing its job, keeping me from cumming, so I fucked her harder, the music of wet slapping of skin on skin reaching my ears. Yuki’s eyes were squeezed shut, and her mouth hung open in a silent O before another moan escaped.
I kept pounding and grunting from the effort, enjoying Yuki making high-pitched and needy keening sounds. Her cunt was soaking, dripping sex juice onto the couch, and the cock ring’s nub was grinding against her clit with each thrust, whether she wanted it or not.
“Please,” she gasped out. “Please, I ... it’s too much. Need to cum.”
I gripped her ankles, keeping her folded open, and drove in deeper. She let out a long, ragged groan that turned into a series of short, sharp whimpers. I was close, my breath coming in harsh grunts, and I felt my heart hammering against my ribs. The Dr Johnson Mark IIA was keeping me there, right on the edge, but I wanted to finish inside her, wanted to feel her clench around my cock as I emptied.
I thrust harder, faster, causing the couch legs to scrape along the floor. Yuki’s cries turned into one continuous wail, broken only by the slap of our meeting bodies. Then she came, her back arching as much as her position allowed. Her cunt spasmed around my cock in rhythmic waves that were too much. I roared out and slammed in one last time, burying myself to the root, ripped off Dr Johnson Mark IIA, and pumped rope after rope of cum deep inside her.
When I finally pulled out, my cock was still half hard from the ring, and my cum leaked out of her stretched cunt to run down her arse crack onto the couch. She lay there trembling, her legs still bent up and back, making soft, broken whimpers of happiness in her throat. It was time, and there was no going back on my plan. “Yuki, that was a test, and you passed. I have an important client, and I know I need you.”
“What about Mai, my mother or Nguyet?” she queried.
Following Greg’s parting advice at the seminar of “Tell them what they want to hear, not the truth,” I said, “You are much better in every way than they are for this job.” I lowered my voice as though thinking aloud, “And better for anything.” She heard alright as her eyes gleamed as I continued. “Of course, Mai, Nguyet and your mother wouldn’t approve, and we won’t tell them, so I understand if you don’t want to do it. I apologise for getting carried away earlier, but I couldn’t control myself alone with you.”
She replied instantly, her face filled with pride. “I’ll do it,” she said softly. “Whatever you need, I want to do it with you.” She bit her lower lip, her voice gaining confidence. “That bitch Mai always treated me like she was showing how powerful she was. And my mother,” she paused, her face tightening. “My mother brought me here to be broken. But when you were inside me just now, I felt like I actually mattered, as though I was wanted, not just used.”
She sat up fully, her small tits rising and falling with each short breath. “But you said you need me for this. You said I’m better than them. I want to be the one you choose, not because I’m forced to, but because I actually want to be.” She reached out and took my hand, and looked up at me. “But what is it? What will I have to do for this important client?” Her eyes searched mine, a mix of hope and nervousness. “I just want to know what to expect. So I can be perfect for you and better than Mai or anyone else.”
Fuck me dead. Greg was right. It had been worth the dry cleaning bill to get the sticky pineapple glaze off my suit sleeve.
“I have an important Japanese husband-and-wife client arriving at the Gold Coast in a day’s time. Apparently, the wife thinks she is a sex goddess. I want you there as my wife, being better than her, so they are on the back foot in the negotiations. Of course, that means we have to share a bedroom so we look like a couple, same as them, and we need you to out slut-dress her. Is that okay?”
Yuki’s eyes lit up like I’d offered her the thing she’d been waiting for her whole life. She pushed herself upright on the couch, my cum still leaking down her thighs, and hugged me. “Yes,” she said proudly. “Yes, I’ll go. I’ll be your wife.” Her words poured out. “Mai trained me to be a slave. My mother broke me to prove she could. But you,” she looked at me with something close to worship, “You make me feel like I’m not just a thing to be used.” If only she knew the truth, I thought.
She moved closer, pressing her naked body against mine, her voice becoming more intense. “I want to be better than this Japanese woman, then prove that I am better than Mai or Nguyet. Her free hand slid down my chest towards my cock. “Tell me what to wear and how to act. I’ll out-slut anyone you put in front of me.” She knelt before me and said, “Tell me everything. I’ll do it all,” before her tongue tried to get me hard again.
The plane trip to Surfers Paradise on the Gold Coast, if you don’t count the number of looks a 42-year-old businessman, accompanied by his eighteen-year-old wife, obviously wearing no underwear, attracted, went smoothly. After a sleepless night for obvious reasons, we waited for the Japanese husband and wife in a modern office suite I had hired for the meeting.
The face to face business dealings with Kenji Sato began after introducing him to Yuki. He was a fifty-year-old Japanese businessman, impeccably dressed in the Japanese businessman’s uniform: dark blue suit, black tie, and polished shoes, with only the quality of the materials distinguishing between tycoon and journeyman. But I had done my research and knew his secrets. He stood to shake Yuki’s hand as she entered with the tray, offering tea or whisky. He took the whisky and apologised for the absence of his wife, saying she was shopping and would arrive soon.
Business proceeded well, mixing talk and whisky. It was time for Yuki’s first test: a text sent surreptitiously to her. Sato needs a better view. Drop your pen. When you pick it up, show him what you’re not wearing. Don’t make it obvious. Make him believe it’s an accident.
Yuki’s fingers fumbled with her ballpoint pen as she took notes, and it fell onto the thick-pile carpet beside her chair. “Oh, sorry,” she murmured, drawing Kenji’s attention away from the computer monitor where he was studying profit projections with me.
After he turned to see what had happened, I watched Yuki bend at the waist. It was perfectly done. Keeping her back straight, she turned and bent, giving Kenji the best possible view. The ultra-short skirt purchased from Skin Siren in St. Albans sitting high on her waist with its flared pleating, made the white jersey fabric of her dress ride up. As she had spread her legs for balance, the rear view of her cunt was presented in its naked glory to my client. With no G-string, it was completely exposed, and its delicate, folded lips dark against the paleness of her thigh presented her open oyster, with its long, hanging lips.
She snatched the pen and straightened up, but fumbled, and this time her retrieval of the pen gave him the front view before the fabric fell back into place. Kenji’s voice hadn’t faltered from his monologue on market projections, but I knew he had watched, and I saw a faint, almost imperceptible nod and a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.
The business dealings were finished quickly. Kenji excused himself to make a phone call in the reception office, then returned. Five minutes later, Akemi Sato entered. His wife was thirty-seven and wore a dress of red silk so thin and tight it clung to her body like spilt water on a table. The neckline plunged to her sternum, held together by a single gold chain between her tits, and the back was completely absent, so that her spine was exposed down to the dimples above her arse. The hem stopped high-thigh, and when she walked, the skirt split on one side to her hip, revealing she wore nothing underneath except a hanging gold chain that must have originated from her cunt.
Her face was Japanese make up perfection with a cruel mouth, high cheekbones, and eyes lined with black that made her look like a predator. Huge heels and an ankle chain completed her outfit. Her hair was black and straight, cut to her jawline. She moved with the confidence of a woman who had spent her adult life being stared at and had decided to make men pay for the privilege. I am sure Kenji did.
Yuki shifted beside me, her sheer blouse suddenly feeling cheap compared to what had just walked in. Akemi’s eyes found mine first, held them, then dropped deliberately to my crotch before rising again with a smirk. She crossed the room slowly, her hips swaying, the red silk riding up with each step to show the smooth skin of her inner thigh.
“So you are the Australian who thinks he can handle our investments,” she said. She stopped two feet from me, close enough that I could smell her perfume, something heavy and musky which made my cock twitch. “And this is your wife?” She looked at Yuki, her gaze travelling up and down the transparent blouse, then to the micro-mini. “How ... quaint.”
She turned, giving me a full view of her back, the dress barely covering her arse cheeks and the gold chain sitting on her hips. Then she bent over deliberately to place her alligator-skin handbag on a low coffee table, her legs straight, the dress riding up to expose her naked cunt, shaved smooth and glistening, to everyone in the room. It was obvious who Kenji had phoned.
She held the position for three seconds before straightening, turning back to me with a smile that said she knew exactly what she had just done.
“Akemi, my darling,” Mr Sato said. “Perfect timing. We are finished and ready to sign.”
I chipped in, Can Yuki get you some tea or water?”
I pressed send to transmit the prepared message, knowing Yuki would read it in the kitchen. She looks down on you. Show her what a real woman looks like. When you lean over to pour her water, I want a tit out. Make sure she gets a good, long look.
She returned with a pitcher of water and glasses on a tray to find Akemi had taken the seat opposite her husband. Yuki poured the water, then turned, a glass in hand, and leant forward to place the glass in front of Mrs Sato. As she did, she hooked her thumb in the wide, loose neckline of her blouse and gave it a tiny, almost imperceptible tug.
The thin fabric shifted, and her left tit swung free. It hung, a perfect globe displayed to Akemi while her husband across the table saw nothing. The nipple, puckered in the cool, air-conditioned room, a physical reaction to its exposure. I saw Akemi’s eyes flicker down, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows raising a fraction of a millimetre. There was no shock on her face, just a cool, clinical curiosity, the kind one might show to a strange insect, followed by a flicker of utter contempt. She looked from Yuki’s tit to her face, then dismissed her entirely, turning to her husband as if Yuki had simply ceased to exist.
Yet I knew she had seen it as a challenge. We retired to give the husband and wife time to make their final decision. When we were called in, Kenji swirled the amber liquid of his Jonny Walker black label in his heavy crystal tumbler, the ice cubes moving slowly. A slow, thoughtful smile spread across his face as he watched his wife, Akemi, who was reapplying her lipstick using a small gold compact.
“Sullivan-san,” he began, “Our business is concluded. But perhaps there is room for one final negotiation. A bit of sport to celebrate.”
“I’m an Aussie. I am always open to betting on sport, Kenji,” I replied.
“Your wife,” Sato said, gesturing vaguely towards Yuki with his glass. “She has some spirit. Perhaps a certain fire within her. And my wife,” he looked at Akemi with a strange mixture of pride and ownership, “She has a deeply competitive nature. Therefore, I propose a wager.” His eyes glinted. “A contest between them. Here and now to see which one is the superior woman.”
I asked,”What kind of contest? And what are the stakes?” Though I was fairly certain from my research what would follow.
“A sexfight,” Sato said. “No rules, just,” he searched for the English word, “dominance.” He continued, “The first one to be made to beg, to be completely broken by the other, loses.” He took a sip of his whiskey. “If my Akemi wins, you knock five per cent off the final contract price. If your Yuki wins, you add five per cent. A simple wager between businessmen who are proud of their wives.”
Before I could respond, Akemi snapped her compact shut with a sharp click. She set it down on the table and fixed me with a confident glare. “My husband undervalues me,” she said coolly, not even glancing at Kenji. “Despite my success, he always has. Five per cent is an insult to my capabilities.” She rose from her chair with a fluid, snake-like, menacing movement, and walked around the table until she stood directly in front of Yuki. I have never been beaten, Mr Sullivan. Not in the boardroom, and certainly not in the bedroom. If your wife is to be my opponent,” she looked Yuki up and down with undisguised disdain, “the prize must be worthy of my time.”
She turned back to me, her eyes blazing with challenge and utter confidence. “If I win, the discount is ten per cent. Non-negotiable.”
I looked at Akemi, but my words were for Yuki. “And when my wife wins, the premium is ten per cent.”
Akemi offered a small, vicious smile. “Then we have an accord.” She turned her attention back to Yuki, her eyes sweeping over her. With a slow, deliberate motion, Akemi reached up and began to strip. “Take off that pathetic outfit. Let’s see what your husband is so proud of.” Her confident acceptance did nothing for my hope of getting a 10% discount.
Yuki reached for the waist of her skirt. The minuscule cream jersey slid down past her ankles, and she stepped out of it. Then she pulled the blouse up over her smooth stomach and bare breasts, and over her head, before dropping it in a crumpled heap on the floor. She stood there naked under the harsh office lights, watching Akemi.
Akemi disrobed with a methodical grace that was its own form of aggression. The thin silk garment slithered down her body and long, toned legs until she stood naked in six-inch heels, two inches higher than those Yuki wore.
Kenji Sato leaned back, a connoisseur appreciating two different works of art. “While you mentally prepare,” he said, his voice a calm, instructional drone as the woman stripped. Let us establish the parameters.”
Akemi’s body was different to Yuki’s. Where Yuki’s was youthful and soft, Akemi’s had lean muscle. Her stomach was flat and taut, with small, firm tits, with dark, prominent nipples. And between her legs, a neat triangle of perfectly trimmed hair contrasted with Yuki’s bare slit.
“This is not a brawl,” Sato continued. “There will be no punching, kicking, scratching or biting. Physical violence is crude and artless.” He gestured with his glass. “The weapons are your hands, your mouths, your bodies and your sex. The goal is to force submission through pleasure using sex to overwhelm your opponent.”
Both women stood naked, facing each other in the centre of the room, framed by the full-length window view of Surfers Paradise beach and water. A confident thirty-seven-year-old apex-warrior faced off against her eighteen-year-old opponent in her first sexfight.
“The rules are simple,” Kenji concluded, setting his glass down. “You will do whatever is necessary to make your opponent orgasm. The first woman to be brought to climax twice loses. To lose control of your own body is the ultimate defeat for a real woman.” He looked from his wife to Yuki. “Do you both understand?”
Yuki could only nod, a tiny, jerky movement. Akemi, however, gave a slow, confident smile. Her eyes, fixed on Yuki’s, were glittering with a cruel, excited light. She took a deliberate step forward, closing the distance between them. “I understand perfectly.”
She took a single step back and planted her feet firmly on the plush carpet.
Her right hand moved with a deliberate slowness down her own taut stomach. She hooked two fingers into the neat, dark triangle of hair, and pulled her labia apart slowly. Her inner cunt lips were already slick and swollen, and parted to expose the hard, prominent nub of her clitoris, glistening under the office lights. Her other hand came to join the first. One finger slid immediately inside her cunt while another began to circle her clitoris in a manner that showed long practice and intimate knowledge of her own body. She knew exactly what she was doing.