A Soap Opera: My Year of Living Dangerously (With Asian Women)
Copyright© 2025 by Asiansexfight uncensored
Chapter 9: Iku in Cairns
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 9: Iku in Cairns - 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 looked in the mirror in the toilets of the international arrivals waiting area at the Cairns airport in Queensland, Australia. International not because of the city size but because of the number of tourists, particularly Japanese, who came to see the Great Barrier Reef. A middle-aged businessman reflected at me: confident, expensive suit, model-quality looks, athlete’s body. Except, in reality, this reflection had thinning hair, multiple used notches of the K Mart belt as it was let out and a worried look on its face.
I stood in the international arrivals area, watching overseas tourists stream through the arrival doors, as I waited for Iku. I tried to remember the last time I had seen my cock, not my belly, and for the 100th time resolved to start exercising. The worry was whether I had made the right choice in deciding to manipulate the Asian women in my life to give me what I wanted. No, make that deserved.
I had my start. First, Mai had accepted my explanation of how Iku’s daughter, Yuki, had disappeared, and only muttered how incompetent I was and that she would find another sex slave. Second, with my success with Yuki, if you ignore what happened to her afterwards with Akemi, I now knew I could manipulate Asian women, and didn’t have to just accept what they doled out to me. The third was the most worrying, as it was a step up. Mai was arriving, unknown to Mai, complete with her new tits, and I was going to engineer a sexfight between her and Mai. Having seen the sexfight between Yuki and the Japanese client Akemi, I was hooked, and Iku only needed a little more encouragement to commit. I was sure I could get her to want that in the next few days.
A large mass of Japanese arrivals approached, and I soon saw why they were not spread out but swarming like a pack of wolves around their quarry. It was Iku Tanaka, but transformed so dramatically that I could hardly believe it.
Her body hit me first. The 34C breasts that had, although soft, been disproportionately large on her 5’3”, 110-pound body were gone, replaced by tits that defied belief. The surgeon had clearly gone beyond the 36DD she had told me: these had to be 36EE or larger. They were huge, hard, artificial implants that jutted forward from her petite frame like pornographic caricatures. The new tits were obviously, undeniably fake, being round, firm and sitting impossibly high on her chest with the telltale fullness that screamed surgical enhancement.
But it was her clothing that made my jaw drop. Gone was the businesswoman in expensive, yet conservative suits. This new Iku wore a hot-pink halter top that was so tight and small it was clearly designed for much smaller breasts. It tried to stretch over her new implants, but failed, showing plenty of inner, side and under boob, while her huge areolae and thick nipples were clearly defined through the thin material. The halter tie behind her neck looked ready to snap from the weight and pressure they exerted.
Below, she wore a micro mini skirt of black stretch-spandex that barely covered her arse, and rode so high on her thighs that any bending or sitting movement would prove whether she wore underwear. The skirt emphasised how her new top-heavy torso made her look even more Barbie doll-like: a tiny waist, slim hips, and then the massive fake tits that seemed to arrive seconds before the rest of her body. Her legs were bare, ending in the kind of shoes that existed purely for sexual display, with clear platforms, and they screamed, “fuck me”.
Her makeup was overdone, so she looked like a slut heading to a club to be picked up by a rich man rather than arriving on an international flight, while her hair was styled in loose waves, falling past her shoulders. She looked exactly like what she’ had described wanting to become: a forty-two-year-old woman who’d surgically changed herself into a wet dream, dressed to broadcast her sexuality to anyone with eyes.
Every man in the arrivals area was staring. Some were subtle about it, with short glances at the impossible proportions. Others were like me, openly gaping at the tiny Asian woman with gigantic fake tits barely contained in a straining halter top. Women’s reactions ranged from scandalised disapproval to envious fascination. She saw me and rushed to me, and I felt and enjoyed the watching men’s envy.
Her new tits hardly moved with each step despite their size and weight, and their obvious falseness drew every eye in the arrivals hall. In the taxi she turned to me. “Well,” she asked. “Do you approve?”
Up close, the effect was even more extreme. From the side, her slim frame made the implants look completely unnatural, two massive round globes jutting straight out from her chest. When she turned to look out the window, I saw the full view from behind, her narrow back and small arse barely covered by the micro skirt, while the implants spread wider than her torso.
“You went bigger than 36DD,” I said when I stopped ogling.
“36EE. One surgeon said my frame was too small and they would look ridiculous. So I found one who understood exactly what I wanted.” She hooked a finger in the halter top and pulled one tit out, cupping it in her hand. The driver glanced at us in the mirror and wished, like me, he was the one doing the cupping. “He was willing to make me into the woman you wanted.”
She pushed both tits together, creating cleavage something like the Grand Canyon in Arizona. “These are hard silicone porn-star implants that are obviously fake, over the top and perfect for what we have planned.”
“What ‘s that?” I asked, though I had my hopes.
Iku’s smile turned cold. “I’m ready to take your suggestion and challenge Mai. Ready to sexfight her, beat her, and then enslave her.” She leaned closer, her new tits pressing against my chest. It would be easy to get used to that feeling. “These,” she said, gesturing at her tits, “are proof that I’m willing to go further than anyone else to get what we want.”
At the hotel we quickly shed clothes, leaving a trail from the entrance to the bed. By the time we reached it, we were both naked and ready. My cock was already hard, and Iku’s pussy was wet and glistening before she pulled me down onto the bed and we kissed. Her tongue invaded my mouth, and her hands were all over me. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” she whispered against my lips. “Just you. No one else. Just us. fucking.”
She pushed me onto my back and climbed on top, reaching down to guide my cock into her. Her long cunt lips parted around it, and Iku sank down in one slow movement, taking the whole length. She let out a long moan and just stayed there for a second, eyes half-closed.
Then she started riding me, and it was perfection. Every time she moved, I somehow knew where she was going. When she leant forward, my hands were already there to hold her. When she rolled her hips, I was already shifting to meet her. There was no thinking about it. It just happened.
Her new tits pointed straight ahead, no matter how she moved, and their thick nipples were hard and stiff. I wanted to grab them, but for once I held back and just watched them stiffen even more. She looked at me, hair falling over one shoulder, and groaned. She was really feeling it, not putting on a show as the Thai girls at my local “Golden Touch” massage parlour did.
“Feel how well you fit,” she whispered, “Like you were made for me.”
Her cunt was gripping me in continuous waves. It was not something she was doing on purpose, just her body reacting. I sat up and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close so her cantaloupe-shaped tits pressed against my chest. I had that feeling again, the one I could get used to.
“I’m already close,” she wailed.
“Me too,” I groaned, and it was true. Usually I last longer, but this was different. It was just the two of us moving in a way that showed we were in the same zone.
She started moving faster, her breathing becoming ragged. “When you come, I want you to cum deep inside me. I want us to finish together.”
Her clit was grinding against my tool with each of my thrusts, and I could feel her cunt muscles beginning to spasm. Then she suddenly cried out as her body locked up as she came. At the same moment I unloaded, pumping my sperm deep inside her while her cunt clenched around my tool.
When it was finished, she stayed on top of me, trembling, and looked at me with this stunned expression. “We came at the same time,” she said, almost in disbelief, “Without trying.”
She kissed me again, slower this time, and we stayed like that for a while with my softening cock still inside her. When she finally climbed off, a thick mess of our cum ran out of her and onto the sheets. I could see she wanted more and knew if I could deliver it would be another step towards achieving my plan. I took my Dr Johnson Mark IIA cockring from my jacket pocket, but more in hope than belief I would need it.
Iku went to work and took me in her mouth, and miracles do happen, because she got me hard again. It was a relief and enabled me to slide Dr Johnson Mark IIA on, happy to leave the heavy lifting to the good doctor. Once it was on, she looked up at me. “Now,” she said, “We will have the time to really connect.” What followed was the longest, most intense fuck I’d had in years.
After the long fuck we dressed to go to a Japanese restaurant/nightclub. Iku held up a different halter neck top: this one was a deep emerald silk, sized for 30A tits and designed to display rather than contain her new tits. It had a neckline that plunged dramatically, and the back was completely open, tying at the back of the neck. With her new 36EE tits, it would show a huge amount of cleavage, side boob and most certainly, from certain angles, her areolae and nipples.
The rest of the outfit consisted of a black stretch micro mini skirt designed to cling and show every curve. It was only nine inches long with a hip-high slit on one side that would expose her leg almost to her waist when she walked. Finally, red five-inch stiletto heels would force an exaggerated hip sway when she walked.
“This is,” Iku said as she paraded before me, “What I want to wear in public for you.”
I responded. “Yeah, it will emphasise what’s special about you and make everyone who sees you understand immediately what kind of woman you are.”
The halter top went on first. She tied it behind her neck, and immediately her tits became the focal point. The deep V of the neckline plunged between her breasts almost to her belly button, showing everything. On a taller woman with proportionate breasts, it might have been sexy but manageable. On Iku’s petite five-foot-three frame and her new tits, it was obscene.
Her Chinese teacup-sized areolae and nipples were visible from certain angles when she walked. Any movement forward would expose them completely, while even when standing, the silk barely contained the outer curves of her breasts, showing skin from armpit to waist. Even without being exposed, her big nipples were obvious through the silk, jutting forward like thick pegs, impossible to miss or ignore.
The micro mini went on next. She had to wiggle into the stretch fabric, and once on, it clung to her hips and arse like a second skin. When she stood up, it barely covered her cunt and arse, with the hem reaching high thigh at best. But the slit on the left side went higher, so when she took a step it exposed her leg almost to her waist.
She stood before the full-length mirror examining herself. “I look,” she turned slightly, watching how the movement made the top gape wider so the skirt’s slit exposed her entire leg. “I look like a prostitute, and everyone will stare and know I’m not wearing underwear when they see me walk.”
“They will see you as a woman who knows her value and isn’t ashamed to display it.”
Her hands moved to her chest, adjusting the top slightly, and the movement made her right areolae fully visible for a moment before she tucked it back. “Yes. Everyone will see that,” she said proudly.
“She turned to face me, and her expression was flushed with arousal, despite her still having some nerves, as imagining something was different to actually doing it. “And do you want that? Do you want other men looking at me, fantasising about me while knowing I belong to you?”
“Yes,” I said again.
Iku took a deep breath. “Then let’s go. Let me feel what it’s like to be on display.”
Zen Gardens was crowded when we arrived, full of Japanese tourists. The reaction to Iku’s entrance was instantaneous. Every head turned as diners saw others’ attention directed to the new arrival and their eyes followed. All eyes locked on her chest where the hot pink halter top was obviously failing to contain her new tits as the fabric strained at the sides, exposing tit-flesh, areolae, and her thick nipples exposed or pushing hard against the thin material.
The young male host stared openly at her tits before he managed to speak and lead us to our reserved table. As we walked through the restaurant, diners ogled shamelessly while others leant forward to whisper to their partners as their eyes followed Iku’s every step. Her breasts tested the halter top, and twice her right areola slipped out before she could adjust the fabric.
When we reached the table, I told her to stop and turn toward the nearest waiter. “Flash him,” I said quietly. She hesitated for a second, then hooked a finger in the side of the halter top and pulled it aside. Her left tit came free, the heavy implant and dark areola on clear display. The waiter froze, tray in hand, and stared. I told her to hold it for a slow count of three before she let the fabric fall back.
We sat. The micro mini rode up high on her thighs. I had her uncross her legs and spread them slightly so the table diagonally from us had a clear view of her shaved pussy. This was just the start.
Throughout the meal, I kept directing her. When another waiter passed by, I had her lean forward and pull the halter top aside again, flashing both tits this time. When a group of Japanese businessmen at the next table kept glancing over, I told her to spread her legs wider and hold the pose until they looked away. She did it, following every instruction.
Gradually she became more confident, and I didn’t need to direct her. She bent forward more often, giving nearby tables clear views of her exposed fake tits. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs slowly, knowing she was flashing her bare cunt to anyone watching.
We ate slowly. The food was excellent, but the real focus was the attention she drew. She was a sexual slut, and I was the man with her. Now it was time to see if I could break any boundaries she still had.
You may remember me telling you about the Accounting seminar at Lorne and my misfortune to be seated beside Greg, the glazed-pineapple doughnut-eating idiot who never stopped talking about his plans to build an accounting empire and his imagined success as a stud to Asian women. It is true that among his ramblings he gave me the idea to manipulate Asian women, as I had done with the 18-year-old Yuki, and was now trying to achieve with her mother.
I had been forced to listen to him for two days, and I couldn’t wipe the rubbish he spouted from my brain. One thing I could not get rid of was his, probably imaginary, story of how he and an Asian mistress of his had performed in an on-stage sex contest in Kings Cross.
When I was selecting the restaurant to go to, Google Translate had translated the Japanese version of Zen Garden’s website, and it said they had a similar performance on Saturday nights. Of course, like you, I have been misled by Google Translate, but after finally reaching someone at Zen Garden who spoke some English, it was true, and I had entered Iku and me.
I looked at Iku across the table. The sake had loosened her up, but I was the one who had decided how the night would end.
“It’s time for the live sex competition,” I said. “Couples perform onstage, fucking onstage before the audience. Thirty minutes for each couple, and the audience votes on the best performance, technique, passion, chemistry, showmanship, whatever turns them on. Winner gets a cash prize and bragging rights in the right circles.”
Iku stared at me. “You mean here?”
“Here. Tonight. I entered us when I made the booking. The other couples are already backstage getting ready. We go on at nine-thirty.”
She blinked, processing what I had just told her. “You entered us?”
“I wanted to see what we could do when it wasn’t just the two of us in a room. I wanted to test whether what we have holds up when other people are watching. When we have to perform. When we have to compete. It’s like a rehearsal for Mai.”
Iku’s face flushed, but her eyes stayed on mine. She swallowed, then nodded slowly. “When do we go backstage?” Fuck me dead. Greg was right again, and lightning does strike twice in the same place.
I checked my watch. “Fifteen minutes. Finish your drink. Then we go.”
We walked through the restaurant, past the garden entertainment area, to a discreet door marked “Private Event. Authorised Guests Only.” A large Japanese man in a suit checked the confirmation email on my phone and nodded us through.
The hallway beyond was dimly lit. We could hear music and the low murmur of a crowd ahead.
Before we went in, I stopped her. “You should know who we’re competing against,” I said. “I saw the roster when I registered us.”
I pulled up the email on my phone and showed her the other entries.
“Couple one is Hiroshi and Akiko. He’s forty, a businessman from Osaka. She’s twenty-six, his secretary. They’ve been fucking secretly for two years. This is their way of making it public without admitting it to his wife. They registered under false names.”
I scrolled down. “Couple two is Yamamoto Kenji and Rei. A father-daughter couple. He’s forty-five, she’s 18. They’ve been in an incestuous relationship for six months, since she turned 18, so it is legal. This is their way of claiming it publicly, even if under pseudonyms.”
“Couple three is Sato Aoki and Miyuki. Mid-thirties married couple from Tokyo. They have been married eight years and have done this before. They’re semi-professional and won a similar competition in Osaka last year. They’re the favourites.”
I looked at Iku. “We’re listed as ‘Japanese mature slut and Western lover’. The audience loves a story. They’ll vote based on performance and which couple’s story appeals to them most.”
Iku stared at the screen, then at me. She nodded slowly. “When do we go backstage?”