Soap Opera 2: Asian Women and My Business
Copyright© 2025 by Asiansexfight uncensored
Chapter 1: The Build Up
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1: The Build Up - Soap Opera 2: Asian Women and My Business goes up against my other Soapy Series, A Soap Opera: My Year of Living Dangerously(with Asian women). Just like when Days of our Lives, The Bold and the Beautiful and Dallas fought for TV ratings, and some viewers watched one while others channel hopped, you too can be a loyal reader of one or binge on both. This new series follows my Australian business and Asian women and is full of over the top characters, implausible plots, rivalries & feuds.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Blackmail Coercion Consensual BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Light Bond Group Sex Interracial White Male Oriental Female Anal Sex Double Penetration Exhibitionism Fisting Oral Sex Sex Toys Squirting Voyeurism Big Breasts Size Small Breasts Cat-Fighting
From my access point, I could see my cock disappearing into the kneeling, petite, middle-aged Asian’s anal channel. I bottomed out before withdrawing and watching her clinging arse chute being pulled out by my cock. Then I pressed forward, and my cock retraced its journey and forced her arse walls back inside her.
My eyes drifted forward to see her head turned sideways to deep throat a negro cock. She rested on her knees and one forearm as her free hand was giving a handjob to another huge cock. Shifting my eyes back to her presented arse in front of me, my peripheral vision captured the fourth man in our gang bang lying on his back between her spread knees as her cunt rode his cock while I took care of her arse.
The man receiving the blowjob gave a groan and filled her mouth with jizz, and I watched the excess dribble down her chin onto her tits. And what tits they were, because although this Asian woman was a tiny 5 ft 1 and 110 pounds, they were fake, silicone-filled 34C. Her handwork also produced results as this man shot his cum over his face, and she licked up what was not joining the cum on her tits. The man under her couldn’t last any longer and bucked upwards as he emptied his load into her slot. Only I and her arse were left.
I was interrupted. “Mr Greg, can you come and sign the documents I have finished?” I sighed, took my hand off my cock, and clicked off the Tia Ling first-person view gangbang video I had been watching on my computer. One of the over 2000 middle-aged that the American Asian porn star has on TubePornstars, though I prefer to search by length and category, for example, Tia Ling gangbang, Tia Ling anal or Tia Ling lesbian.
I walked across my small office tucked away in a back street in Springvale, Melbourne. Springvale was a suburb that had flourished when the Vietnamese boat refugees, who had been temporarily housed nearby, established their businesses, then regressed as they found success and moved to better suburbs. The office walls were a faded beige and had been for years, as I no longer could afford to repaint them and detested the manual work necessary to do it myself. A few potted plants sat on the windowsill, their leaves yellowing and drooping, leftovers from the glory days when my business was at its peak.
My office was a mirror of my business. It was now a one-man accounting firm that had slowly declined over the past ten years, with clients who paid late, if they hadn’t done a runner. It had once been prosperous, servicing the new Vietnamese boat refugee’s businesses that had landed in my lap, but Lien, a Vietnamese university graduate whom I had employed, trained and mentored, left, taking all my best clients. Not only that, the sex goddess, while I employed her, had twisted me around her finger, promising sex but had never really delivered fully on that front.
I’m Greg, forty-five, but looking and feeling fifty. An unbiased observer would say I was a sleazebag, overweight with a paunch that strained against my out-of-fashion suit, and they would be correct. I fought the ageing process by combing over my thinning hair in a desperate attempt to cover my balding scalp. Unfortunately, I am the king of bad decisions, from investments too good to be true to even worse personal choices. Most of the time, I spend thinking of ways to delay paying overdue bills or hoping that a new client will miraculously walk through the door.
Huyen, my 27-year-old Vietnamese secretary, was now my only employee, a far cry from when I employed six. She was no Vietnamese self-entitled princess and influencer like Lien, being thin and plain looking, with a conservative outlook that extended to her dress and outlook on life. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she usually wore unfeminine, buttoned-up blouses and mid-calf-length skirts. She was unusual in that regard for a Vietnamese, but she accepted the below award pay I somehow managed to pay her and was probably the only reason this place hadn’t completely fallen apart. Despite her unassuming appearance, she was efficient and meticulous in her work. Huyen was unmarried and, to my knowledge, had no boyfriend or sex life. She kept to herself, rarely engaging in small talk, and always maintained a polite but distant and reserved demeanour. Of course, I wanted eye candy, but I was not in a position to obtain it.
Today was just another typical day: nothing was happening, but as I walked to Huyen’s desk to sign the documents, I was interrupted by Jim Thompson entering. I swore under my breath. Fuck, first of all, I owed him $100,000, and secondly, how did he get past my security camera, giving me no time to hide? It must be broken and on the blink. Jim looked at Huyen and dismissed her from his mind. To him, she was not worth ogling or chatting up, things he normally did to any female that breathed. He sneered contemptuously at my choice of secretary and nodded towards my office.
He looked me up and down with a smirk. “Greg, you and your Asian secretary both look like shit, but enough small talk. I am here on important business.” I accepted his words, kept my cool, and refused to take the bait as I owed him big money, and he had a reputation. “What do you want, Jim?”
He leant against the desk, his eyes narrowing. “You know what I want. My money. 100 grand of it. Pay now, or my bully boys can beat it out of you. Or, if you’re feeling adventurous, we can go double or nothing.”
“Double or nothing?” I asked, my heart racing. “What kind of bet?”
He grinned, showing a row of crooked teeth that I wanted to punch. He looked through the glass partition of my office and gestured at Huyen. “What about a challenge? You get six weeks to show me a video of you fucking that ugly Asian secretary of yours out there on more than 5 occasions. If you do, the debt is cleared. If not, you pay me $200,000.”
He looked me up and down and gloated, knowing he held all the cards, “My research says she’s unmarried, no boyfriend in sight, and from what I can tell, no sex life to speak of. Plus, look at her. You would need to put a brown paper bag over her head or do it in the dark.”
I was cornered as I did not have the money and preferred not to be bashed when I walked to my car. Huyen was the last person I’d ever think of in that way or choose, but it postponed the beating, and there was a minute chance of clearing the debt. Where there is hope, there is life. “Ten weeks?” I croaked out.
“I’ll be generous. Six weeks and one day. Take it or leave it,” Jim replied. “Think about it, Greg. It could be your way out,” but his smug look showed he knew I had zero chance of winning. Deep down, so did I.
I nodded, my mind searching for how to achieve the impossible. “Alright, I’ll do it.”
Jim clapped me on the back as though we were friends, his smile widening. “Good choice, mate. I’ll be back in six weeks for the video or the money orrrr.” His voice trailed off, but I didn’t need to be told or want to think about that alternative.
As soon as Jim Thompson swaggered off, I slumped back into my chair, already regretting the whole damn bet. How the hell was I supposed to get my conservative, non-sexy Vietnamese secretary into my bed, or any bed in fact?
Straight off the bat, I knew financial leverage was a bust. Threaten to withhold her pay? I was already two weeks behind on that front. Blackmail? She was so straight-laced that she would probably be nominated for sainthood if she was a Catholic. Trickery? I couldn’t spike her drink as she didn’t touch the stuff, plus she ate like a Buddhist monk. That left me with only one Hail Mary: good old-fashioned manipulation. Yes, my only remote chance was to take the flattery route.
Starting the next day, I started paying more attention to her. I started off a low base with small compliments, trying to make them sound as natural as possible, despite the thoughts of being bashed running through my brain. “Huyen,” I said casually as she handed me a stack of files, “The colour of your blouse really brings out your eyes.” She just gave me a blank look, like she hadn’t a clue what I was talking about. Granted, I wasn’t very good at this sort of thing, but it was a start.
A couple of hours later, I forced a smile, trying to make it look genuine. “You know, Huyen, you’re very good at your job. Never had a secretary as efficient as you.”
She looked down, a faint blush creeping up her neck. “I just try my best, Mr Greg.” It had taken me some time to get used to that Vietnamese way of addressing you using Mr before your first name instead of just the first name, but now it was normal.
“And I see it,” I pressed on. “You deserve more recognition for all your hard work.” For the rest of the week, I kept the praise flowing. Every little thing she did well, I made sure to point it out. I complimented her about her hair, her smile, even her drab, conservative outfits. The effect? Absolutely fuck all. I started having nightmares of Jim’s thugs’ efforts to make me eat my meals through a straw.
However, by the end of the week, Huyen seemed a bit more at ease and even started making small talk, something she’d barely done before. “Mr Greg, do you have any hobbies?” she asked one afternoon as we were finishing for the day.
“Not really,” I replied, unable to say unpaid casual sex, or to be more truthful, fantasising about it. “But I do enjoy conversing with interesting people. Lately, now that we have fewer work deadlines, I find it interesting when you talk about yourself.” Fewer work deadlines? I could work a 4-hour day and have time to spare.
She offered a rare smile. “Thank you. I just feel better when there is no pressure, and I can concentrate on my work.” No pressure for her, but what about me and my six weeks and one day?
But she had relaxed slightly and smiled, which was a first, so I continued, as my options were very limited. “I can see that,” I said, “you are the best employee I have ever had. Have you ever thought about more than just secretarial work? Maybe even dealing directly with some of my clients?”
Huyen’s eyes widened a fraction. “A managerial role? Dealing one-on-one with clients. I don’t know, Mr Greg. That sounds like a big step.”
“I reckon you could handle it,” I said, getting the right tone of paternal, caring admiration in my voice. “You’re smart, capable, and you’ve got a real presence about you. People respect you. Take that Jim Simpson who was here the other day. I know for certain he was sniffing around trying to find out if you were poachable, but I told him in no uncertain way you were essential to this business.”
She looked flattered, but still uncertain. “I’ll think about it, Mr Greg.”
The next day, I invited her out for lunch. “Huyen, why don’t we take a break and grab something to eat? My shout.”
She hesitated for a moment, then agreed. We went to a little takeaway restaurant nearby. One that was left over from the first wave ofVietnamese businesses, and not only close but cheap as there had been no renovations since 1985. I grabbed a corner table so we wouldn’t be disturbed. As we ate, I kept up the barrage of compliments. “You know, Huyen, you really brighten my office up,” I said. “You should smile more often. It’s beautiful.”
She blushed again, but this time, she didn’t look away. “Thank you, Mr Greg. You’re very kind.”
“I mean it,” I insisted. “You deserve more than working as a secretary. You’re young, talented, and you’ve got so much to offer.”
Huyen’s expression softened. “I don’t know, Mr. Greg. I’ve always thought it was best to keep things simple and focused on work.”
“But don’t you ever want more?” I asked. “To feel alive, to experience something a bit different, like dealing directly with my clients. Hell, from what you’ve picked up working for me, you already know more about accounting than most recent graduates?”
She looked thoughtful. “Sometimes, I guess. But I don’t know how to.”
I cut her off gently. “I can show you, Huyen. I can help you take that step.”
She hesitated, her eyes darting around the cafe “I don’t know, Mr Greg. That sounds risky.
“Nothing bad will happen,” I reassured her. “You know and trust me. I’ll support your efforts, Huyen, and I believe you are ready to take that step.”
She bit her lip, looking torn. “I’ll need some time to think about this, Mr Greg.”
I nodded, trying to look understanding. “Take your time, Huyen. But remember, I’m here for you. I’ll wait.”
The next morning, I arrived early, and when Huyen arrived her face was flushed, and her hands were trembling a bit. she obviuosly had something on her mind. “Mr Greg, I’ve thought about it,” she said in a soft voice, “I’m willing to try.”
My face didn’t show my exultation as my heart did a frantic drum solo. I was still in the contest. “Thank you, Huyen. You won’t regret this, and remember, I want this for you.” I hope you readers can appreciate the sincerity I put into my voice when I said that.
Over the next few days, I started nudging her, suggesting small changes, starting with her clothes. “Huyen, have you ever tried wearing something a bit more eye-catching and suitable for when you meet and impress clients?”
She looked hesitant but asked. “Like what, Mr Greg?”
“Maybe something a bit more fashionable or a shorter skirt,” I suggested. “Just enough to show off your figure a bit. Trust me, I know it shouldn’t be necessary or come to this. In a perfect world, your skills should be enough, but in the real world, it’ll make a difference with the clients.”
Huyen nodded slowly. “I’ll, I’ll try.”
The next day, she arrived in a slightly tighter blouse and a skirt that ended just above her knees. She looked nervous, but I enthused. “Huyen, you look stunning,” I said, in a voice full of admiration. “It will impress the clients.”
She blushed. “Thank you, Mr Greg. I’m not used to this.”
“You’ll get used to it,” I assured her. Over the next few days, I subtly pushed her further. She started dressing more fashionably, though still in a restrained manner, and I could see her confidence and acceptance of this growing.
“Mr Greg, I’m starting to feel different,” she admitted one afternoon. “It’s like I’m more than just a secretary.”
“That’s because you are,” I said, my eyes locking onto hers. “You’re an attractive, capable woman. And I want our clients to see that.”
Even though I was making progress, it was still too slow, and I needed a killer breakthrough. And my luck was in. I had hacked into her personal email account earlier, looking unsuccessfully for dirt, and when she appeared at work, she had obviously been crying all night. I trawled through her emails again. Bingo. There it was: an email from a male in Vietnam who was going the paid marriage route to get permanent residency in Australia. To cut a long story short, he was pulling the plug, saying paying AUD200,000 for the marriage was OK, but not to someone as unfeminine as Huyen.
The Vietnamese Small Business Association annual meeting was coming up, and I was a member, as most of my remaining clients were Vietnamese, and more importantly, I had purchased a lifetime membership cheaply when it was starting up. It was the perfect opportunity. “Huyen, I need you to accompany me to the meeting. Dress your absolute best as it’s important for the image of our business.”
She looked unsure. “What do you mean, Mr Greg?”
“I mean, I want you to wear something that really shows you at your best. Take the spotlight off my run-down appearance,” I explained. “Something that will turn heads and make clients and future clients remember us.”
She hesitated, “I don’t know if I can do that, Mr Greg. It feels wrong.”
I used my most sincere and persuasive voice. “Trust me, Huyen. You’ll make our firm stand out, and clients will remember you.” Yesterday, she would have said no, but she had just been told via email she was not a woman and here was her boss saying she was an attractive woman. She nodded her acceptance, and I gave her a quick hug. A hug that pressed my hard-on, caused by hope of avoiding a beating, briefly against her before I pulled away, confident she had noticed it. “I’ll buy you something to wear.”
I sent an order to Temu for a slut outfit, and a few days later, the package from Temu arrived at the office. I ripped it open at my desk and swore. “Bloody hell, Huyen, there must be a mix-up. It’s not what I ordered at all.” But there was no mistake. These were the items I had ordered, and even way more extreme than I’d hoped for.
The dress was tiny, made from cream fabric that was almost transparent under certain lighting. It had sheer mesh panels in some places, see-through enough to show everything underneath, and it came with near waist-high slits that’d make her legs look longer. Basically, it was a micro-mini that’d barely covered her arse, with a plunging neckline that dipped right down to her navel, held together by flimsy straps that looked like they’d snap if she breathed too hard. Paired with it was a pair of towering stilettos that a conservative female like Huyen would never have worn in a million years.
“Huyen, the wrong outfit for the meeting has been sent. Too late to get it changed. Why don’t you zip into the restroom and try it on? I imagine it will be suitable even though it’s not what I ordered, and we need to make sure it fits correctly for the big night.” She took the box and disappeared into our office restroom. I ran a hand through my thinning hair, which was getting thinner every day with worry, as I waited.
Then I heard it. A sharp gasp from behind the door, as though Huyen had just seen a ghost. “Mr Greg, this can’t be right,” she called out in a shaky voice.
“Come on out, Huyen,” I coaxed, leaning against the wall with what I hoped was a reassuring look on my face. “It will probably look different from a distance. Trust me, it’ll boost your self-confidence, which we have been working on building up. Remember, this is for the business, to turn heads and seal some deals and introduce you as the other important half of my business.”
The door opened slowly, and she stepped out with her hands fidgeting at the hem, trying to tug it down. The dress clung to her slim body, and the low-cut front exposed a lot of flesh, while her small breasts were outlined by the thin material. The sheer panels over her stomach and sides left nothing to the imagination, and the slits rode up her thighs almost to her waist, flashing skin with every hesitant step she made on the extreme heels. Her face was beet red, highlighted by wide eyes behind her glasses. She was uncomfortable and looked like what she was: a plain Vietnamese woman uncomfortably dolled up like the cheap fantasies I watched online.
“You look incredible,” I said, stepping closer to adjust a strap. “See? I told you it’d make a difference.”
As I stood there, my eyes dropped from her face and bugger me if her nipples weren’t sticking out like they were trying to break through the fabric. They were extreme, oversized things, the sort you can see in one of Bai Ling’s planned public wardrobe malfunctions, and I could see them dark and prominent against the thin material. They were rock hard, and it took all my self-control not to reach out and touch them. I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay smooth. “Huyen, you know what? This outfit may have been sent by mistake, but it’s bringing out a side of you that’s been hidden for too long.”
Any other day, she would have rejected it, but remember the email she had just received. She shifted on her heels, and the blush on her cheeks started to fade a touch as she met my gaze. “Really, Mr Greg? You think so? I feel so strange, but if you think it will help get clients, I can do it.”
“Trust me, no one’s going ignore you. You will be fighting off Vietnamese clients swarming in like flies at a BBQ in the Aussie bush on a hot day.”
She bit her lip, glancing down at herself, and I saw her relax just a bit. Perhaps the flattery was having some effect. But then reality hit, and her hands tugged at the side slits again. “But Mr Greg, it’s too see-through and revealing. People will see my underwear through this. I don’t know if I can go out like this.”
I was worried, but reached back into the Temu box on my desk. “Easy fix, Huyen. The outfit included this as well, and you won’t show a thing.” I fished out the tiny thong with a patch barely big enough to cover the necessities. I dug further into the box and found the quarter-cup bra, which was just two flimsy shelves designed to lift and expose, not cover her Bai Ling-sized nipples. It was cheap stuff, but perfect for the job.
Her eyes went wide behind her glasses, her plain face flushing again as she took them. “These, these are so small. Are you sure?”
“Positive,” I said, handing them over. They are part of this wrong package, so they must be suitable “Go on, pop back in the restroom and try them.” She nodded slowly, still hesitant, but she slipped back into the restroom to change, walking unsteadily on the new stilettos. She returned, not completely sold on the idea, but prepared to do it for the business and boss she trusted.