Chapter 4. Huyen the Slut

I arrived back in Melbourne at 7 pm after the Sydney sex orgy with Thuy and the intervention by the Chinese mother and daughter. I had gone to sleep anxious to see Huyen early the next morning. Moreso, as my health, and may I modestly say, my good looks depended on fucking her to win my bet with the loan shark, Jim Thompson. Even the new business created from Huyen’s change to a slut look for the Vietnamese Small Business annual meeting hadn’t brought in enough cash to repay what I owed. (see Chp 1)

I couldn’t wait to see her, and more particularly, her new tits. But I am human, and the endless sex of the Sydney trip meant I didn’t wake until 11 am. I rushed to my rundown Springvale office, and there she was, at work.

Huyen turned from her desk as I entered. As I expected, she was no longer the plain secretary in baggy clothes. She wore one of the micro-mini pleated skirts from her Temu order. I was one of the more extreme ones that barely covered her body and flipped up with every step or small movement to flaunt her arse cheeks or thong-covered slit. She wore a fitted blazer left half-unbuttoned so that it exposed the lace edges of her quarter-cup bra underneath. High slut heels pushed her legs into a shapely perfection.

How I managed to take that in, I don’t know, as my eyes had locked onto her new tits right away. The surgery had turned her flat 30A chest into a pair of firm, fake 34C implants that jutted out round shaped and solid. Their silicone filling was obvious in the way they sat high without any sag, even when she stood to greet me. Each one was the size and shape of a large half-coconut, with a perfect, unnatural spherical form.

The tit skin stretched tightly over the artificial filler, and her long nipples poked towards me in an attempt to demand their own attention. The riches were almost too much to take in, but I tried, watching them bounce slightly as she shifted. Their unnatural movement made it clear that no real breasts moved in this way. It was even better than I had hoped for.

She stood and pirouetted, and her pleated micro mini flared out to tell me her thong was a pale cream butterfly job that was made of transparent lace, or whatever the Cheap Temu suppliers substituted for lace. Teasing me, knowing my eyes were locked on her tits, she said, “Do you like my new outfit? I have found a better Chinese site than Temu. It’s called Shien and concentrates on female outfits.” Then, as if it were an afterthought, not a planned unveiling. “Oh, you haven’t seen these yet.” She gave me a quick flash by pulling open the unbuttoned blazer. “Do you think the surgeon did a good job?”

Good job was an understatement. I picked my jaw off the floor and managed to stammer, “Huyen, you look even better than Tia Ling in her prime. Those implants suit you perfectly. It’s what we wanted with the way they sit and will attract looks from their obvious silicone roundness. They are better than Tia’s and make you stand out more than she ever did in her videos.” I tried to make it more professional and less perv-sleezy, so I added, “I know it’s wrong as you are far more than an OnlyFans body, but it will have the clients talking to you, and then you can show them your business nous.” It wasn’t a very convincing attempt by me.

She nodded her agreement. My eyes were wandering more than usual that day, and not on my usual diet of internet porn. I caught her glancing at herself in the reflection of the window a few times, her face breaking into a secret smile. It was time to act as Jim Thompson’s deadline was now only nine days away, so I moved quicker than a rumour on social media.

I leant back in my well-worn chair. “Huyen,” I called out, “it’s obvious you have come through the surgery perfectly with no adverse reaction. I reckon we should celebrate properly by having me take you out for dinner. Nothing too fancy, or with any hidden agendas. Just a bit of a treat for the new you and our future business success. I have never done this sort of thing before, even though I have wanted to, because I had to respect the boss-employee line and all that. I didn’t want to blur boundaries, so us having a meal will be OK?” My hypocrisy has no limits.

She looked up from her typing and glanced up over her glasses, but there was no hesitation, just an eager nod. “That sounds wonderful, Mr Greg. And don’t worry about the boundaries, we’re both professionals. We can handle it just fine.” And it should have been except I was looking down an open blazer with $45,000 of perfect, silicone tit-flesh staring back.

The evening came around too slowly, but finally it arrived, and I pulled up outside Huyen’s government housing flat in my beat-up Volvo. I’d combed what was left of my thinning hair and thrown on a half-decent shirt, so I felt I looked like James Bond just before he introduces himself with, “The name’s Bond, James Bond.” But when she stepped out, unlike the suave 0007, who coolly handled anything, I nearly swallowed my tongue.

She had emerged in a fluorescent pink, halter-neck minidress obviously made for the nightclub crowd. Unfortunately, I was far too old to be one of that group, but I follow the gossip pages in the Sunday papers, so I am up to date with nightclub fashion. The spaghetti thin straps crossed behind her neck and plunged low in front to reach the fabric that framed and barely covered her 34C implants. The material clung tightly over the spherical curves of her enhanced breasts, highlighting the smooth, stretched skin and the obvious artificial way the silicone pushed them up high without any flesh wobble. They had no natural droop at all.

The halter neck tried but failed miserably to contain her new 34Cs with the small amount of fabric pulled so tight it would probably have been hard work on her old 30As. It left heaps of firm side boob spilling out, and through the thin material, you could make out every detail of her nipples. Any observer could feast on their dark colour, and their similar, oversized size and shape to that of the Chinese, American-based attention seeker and wardrobe malfunction exponent, Bai Ling, as they poked out, hard and unmissable.

In fact, her prominent nipples seemed even bigger somehow when on her new tits as they fought with her exposed tit flesh for attention. The dress hem hit just below her arse, leaving most of her slim legs exposed from thigh to ankle and showing the maximum amount possible of smooth and toned skin. If I could have made an improvement, I would have had a big sign on the outfit saying, unzip here.

She had paired her dress with platform stilettos that added inches to her height, bringing her calves into focus and forcing each step to become an eye-catching, deliberate performance. Her makeup screamed slut appeal: heavy eyeliner drew attention to her almond-shaped eyes and emphasised something I had missed in the office.

With my eyes feasting on her tits, I had not noticed that her lips and eyebrows had, just like most Vietnamese women, been tattooed while I was in Sydney with Thuy. Finally, her cheeks had been rouged to accent her high cheekbones. All in all, she was a completely different woman from the mouse-like creature I had employed for years.

She slid into the passenger seat with a shy smile, tugging at the skirt hem that did bugger all to cover much. “Evening, Mr Greg. I thought this outfit would be appropriate for celebrating. What do you think?”

My eyes lingered a tad too long as I started the car. “Wow, Huyen, you look fantastic. I don’t know why you have hidden this side of you for so long, but I am glad for you and the firm that you have changed. Let’s make this a night to celebrate and remember.”

We arrived at the busy Vietnamese restaurant strip in Bridge Road, Richmond, in my clapped-out Volvo, and I parked it in some dark alley. I was confident any joyrider would turn his nose up at it. In fact, I could probably have left it unlocked, and it would still be there after we had eaten. I hopped out and played the gentleman, offering Huyen my arm as she stepped out of the car in full war gear. As I walked and Huyen tottered on her slut heels to the restaurant, I looked back at my yellow Volvo and thought to myself, as I had done many times, that soon I would have a black Beamer when my business expanded.

As we pushed through the door of Thi Thi, the glare of the restaurant’s lights caught her nipples perfectly, making them stand out against her paler skin, plus, as a bonus, highlighting the front and side boob spilling out. The place went quiet for a split second. Normally, after a brief glance at a newcomer, the noisy chatter of Asian eating would resume. Families would resume slurping on their noodles, men would sip their beers, and waiters would resume their servicing of noisy clients.

Tonight was different. Eyes stayed locked on Huyen like the fridge magnets pinning unpaid bills to my fridge. A group of young Vietnamese teenagers at a corner table elbowed each other, one muttering something in awe that earned him a smack from his mate as their stares stayed glued to her new additions. An older couple argued: his tarted-up wife whispering furiously while her husband adjusted his glasses for a better view. Even a waitress nearly dropped her tray, shooting Huyen a mix of envy and disbelief before scurrying back to the kitchen. I don’t think it was me who had caught their attention.

Meal finished, and as we left the restaurant, I placed my arm around her waist. As we passed the bickering husband and wife, I shifted mt arm. Accidently And unknowingly, I know you believe me, this caused the back of her extreme mini dress to rise up. The husband and wife were presented with three inches of uncovered arse flesh, and the wife slapped her husband to remind him not to ogle.

We drove to her government low-rent housing apartment, where she invited me in for Vietnamese coffee and karaoke. She laughed at my toneless efforts and snuggled against me. This was all I needed, especially as time was running out with regard to repaying the debt, which I couldn’t do if I lost the bet.