Soap Opera 2: Asian Women and My Business
Copyright© 2025 by Asiansexfight uncensored
Chapter 5. Chen Hua and the restaurant owner
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 5. Chen Hua and the restaurant owner - 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
After Jim Thomson had left, and even years later, I still am convinced I heard him swearing 5 shops away. I had fucked Huyen from both relief and gratitude. (see Chp 4). After I had cum, she rubbed a scoop of my cum across her tits and offered her fingers for me to lick, before asking in a quavering, emotional voice, “Will it always be like this? You owning me, fucking me, making me more of an exhibitionist slut and turning me into your slut forever?”
I pulled her close to kiss her cum-smeared lips and promised earnestly, “Always, Huyen. Nothing can top this. I’ll keep you overloaded on this, dressed as my slut, no one else gets a chance to replace you.”
And I meant it. That is, until a week later. I was alone in the office, as a new client had requested that Huyen visit their office to evaluate their accounting needs, when the door opened. I looked up from my Pornhub research and recognised Chen Hua, the Chinese mother from the Sydney sex revenge trip. (Chp 3)
She stood in the doorway, dressed in Western gear instead of the qipao she had worn, and taken off, there. She had on a tight red blouse that strained over her full D-cup tits, unbuttoned very low to show maximum cleavage, paired with a black mini skirt that rode up her thighs. Platform heels completed the look, but it did not quite work. It wasn’t classy slutty like Thuy pulled off, nor full whore slutty like a King Street stripper. It was close, but no cigar.
Under the harsh fluorescent lights of my Springvale office, I saw her more clearly than in the dim light of the sex club or the hotel room in Sydney. Her face, once pretty with sharp Chinese features, in this light showed fine lines around her eyes and mouth, and her body looked well-used from years as a sex toy for the high-ranking, top-level Chinese political and military elite. And the outfit screamed amateur and trying too hard, whereas her qipao oozed natural sex appeal.
Even with her worn appearance, my cock hardened as memories flooded back of her and her daughter screwing Thuy senseless, and the expert way she had serviced my shaft. She said we needed to talk, and immediately, worry hit me that blackmail was her endgame. I had to shift her from alone in the office to somewhere public where I was not so vulnerable, so I thought fast and suggested grabbing a bite to eat.
As we walked to a cheap eat, she showed plenty of flesh, both to me and other people in the street. The front split of her mini skirt rode up with each step, flashing the bottom of her slit to blokes passing by, and once when she bent to adjust her shoe, her blouse gaped open, giving me and a couple of tradies a clear view of her D-cup tits swinging free without a bra. Further along, a gust of wind flipped the back of her skirt up, exposing her bare arse cheeks to an old man resting on a bench, who nearly dropped his paper. Halfway there, she leant in close to me, pressing her arm against mine so her nipple brushed my sleeve through the thin fabric. I was very confused but reasoned that was probably her intention before she dropped her ultimatum: money for not talking.
We entered the Canton Court eatery, and the owner was a similarly aged woman, in her forties, but slim. She dressed to impress and bring clientele back for another look, in a low-cut blouse that plunged deep to show off her braless B-cup tits, nipples outlined against the fabric, paired with a short skirt that clung to her hips and high heels. I thought it was an unusual choice for someone standing every day and handling food fried in oil. Later, when I had tasted the food, I realised the reason for her dressing that way. It was the only way a customer might return.
I could sense immediate tension between her and Chen Hua, but we sat and waited for the menu. When she presented it to us I noticed she was showing more flesh, her blouse gaping wider as she leaned past me, pressing her tit against my shoulder deliberately while pointing out specials on the menu, her breath hot on my ear as she whispered about the duck being, “extra juicy today, just like you’d want,” all while being curt and rude with Chen Hua, snapping at her to “hurry up and decide” without even glancing her way.
The owner finally took our order after lingering on me a bit longer, jotting down my beef noodles and Chen Hua’s fried rice with a wink my way before sauntering off. Chen Hua leaned in across the table, her voice dropping in a conspirative manner as she glanced around the empty restaurant as though looking for someone listening. I soon realised my fears were unfounded. She said she had thought a lot about the Sydney long weekend and needed clarification.
Hesitantly, she asked if the feeling she had that I appreciated her more than her daughter was right, and if I felt I spent more time inside her than her daughter. Relieved, I leant back in my chair and told her that her impression was correct. She was far better than her daughter. Her cunt gripped me tighter and milked me longer than Wang Lan’s: she varied positions and intensity and prolonged it far better than her daughter, and I’d been replaying those rides in my head.
She sighed and said Chinese men don’t think like that. Even the man she had married to get permanent residence here had taken her money and then fucked her 18-year-old daughter in the same way that he had at the sex club, not her. I reached across to pat her hand because she was obviously upset, and I had classified her as non-threatening. She grabbed it like a lifeline.
She nodded slowly, her eyes lighting up a bit. “I could always make men cum quick in my days as an escort for high-ranked government officials,” she said, “so why did you hold back so hard in Sydney and actually get me off first instead?” I shrugged. “The sex was special,” I replied, “so I tried to make it last and enjoy every second. Anyway, I believe a woman deserves to receive as well as give pleasure. You were so good that you cumming first was just luck.” Complete rubbish, I had tried everything I could to gain that small victory and feel less used.
She nodded worshipfully, like I was God’s gift to women. “I felt like we had this special bond, you know, something deeper than just the sex,” she said, laying on the sentimental crap. I nodded along, agreeing just to keep things smooth, since now I knew blackmail wasn’t on the table, all I wanted was to wrap this up, head back to the office for some porn, in order to find a fresh way to fuck Huyen later.
You may ask why, now that I was sure I was safe from blackmail, I didn’t make some excuse. Say that I was busy at the office, or surreptitiously press the combination of volume and power buttons on my phone that brought up the special app. You know the one: it creates a fake phone call that I could answer, shrug my shoulders apologetically and cut and run.
Well, the answer to that question is that I agree with George Costanza’s analysis in Seinfeld when he said that “it’s not a lie if you believe it.” Similarly, I feel it’s not betrayal unless you are caught.
The meal arrived with the owner sliding my beef noodles in front of me with a flirty smile and a brush of her hand on my arm, while she dumped Chen Hua’s fried rice down with a glare that could curdle milk. I nearly choked on my first bite, and only partly because of what I was eating, at Chen Hua’s next question. “Was I right thinking you enjoyed watching us take the Vietnamese bitch?” she asked, her eyes narrowing like she was testing me.
What could I say but the truth, as she would have seen my hardon as they relentlessly fucked Thuy. “Yeah, you saw me watching,” I admitted, “I couldn’t take my eyes off you two taking her down. You probably saw my cock stiff the whole time.”
She acknowledged it with a sly smile. “I saw you were very interested,” she said. “Most men watch a sexfight for a few minutes, then go back to games on their phone. But you, you watched everything. I wish I had a man like that.” She took a big breath, like she was about to confess to a murder. “I dressed to impress you today,” she said, “tried to look like your Vietnam bitch, but I know something is wrong with the combination, and I don’t know what. I need your input and help to achieve it.”
Before I had to answer, the owner appeared with dessert. It was one I hadn’t seen in years. It was the old banana fritter from the 1970s, deep-fried and drowning in thick raspberry syrup. She placed mine down with a smile, bending low enough that her low-cut blouse gaped open and her left tit popped out completely, the uncovered mound spilling free with its nipple stiff and crinkled from the air, skin smooth and lightly puckered around the areola, looking ripe enough to bite into. Well, at least it would be better than the Banana fritter, I thought. It hung there for a second or two before she tucked it back in casually, all while keeping her back to Chen Hua so she didn’t see.
Then she swung round to serve Chen Hua, and a dollop of strawberry syrup splattered into her lap. A fierce argument erupted, Hong Kong versus mainland China. The owner snarled, “You mainland pretend slut, parading around like a cheap whore with your sagging tits and loose skin. I bet you couldn’t satisfy a man without paying him money.”
Chen Hua fired back, “Colonial lackey slut, strutting your bony arse Kowloon unsuccessfully touting for old men and drunk’s cock, while I was milking generals dry. My cunt’s unbeatable, yours is probably as useless as your fake smile.”
The two women locked eyes and squared off like alley cats, trading more barbs about who was the real slut and whose holes could outlast the other, until the owner jabbed a finger at her and challenged, “Let’s settle this properly. You and me in a sexfight, right here, right now.”
She went to the till and pulled out $1000 and slapped it on the table. “Match that, bitch, and we fight.”
From the look on Chen Hua’s face, I knew she didn’t have it. “I will cover the bet, Chen Hua. You go to the restroom and clean up.” When she departed, I turned to the owner. “If I didn’t do that, you wouldn’t get your chance to show you’re the real woman.” She thanked me with her tongue down my throat and promises of more. When Chen Hua returned, the sign on the door said closed, and the owner nodded upstairs to the bedroom.
There, the two stripped down, the owner, who announced herself as Lai Fong, peeled off her low-cut blouse and short skirt to proudly display her slim, toned body with taut 32B tits sitting on her narrow chest, and a shaved slit already glistening between toned thighs. She made a point of opening her cunt lips to give me a look.
In reply, Chen Hua ditched her tight red blouse and mini, cradling her full, heavy D-cups and thrust out her cunt. Side by side, the differences were obvious: Lai Fong looked a decade younger with her slim body and smooth skin over subtle muscles from years of running the restaurant. Her face had high cheekbones, minimal lines, and a fierce glare in her narrow eyes.
Chen Hua, who was forty-five but mainland-born, carried some extra weight that caused her belly and thighs to sag slightly. Her once-pretty features were creased with wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, and broader hips suggested a solid, powerful base.
They argued the form of the sexfight, finally agreeing that it would be a best-of-three rounds. Only fingering, tribbing, or tonguing could be used to force orgasms. The first to make the other cum won the round, and that there would be no biting, scratching or slapping tits and arses, which disappointed me. The loser lost her cash state and had to watch me service the winner in front of her. Both thought I wanted that clause because I expected them to win.
With the rules laid down, the two circled each other on the worn bedroom carpet, eyes locked in mutual disdain. Lai Fong sneered first, “Mainland cow, those sagging D-cups will flop uselessly while I make your tired cunt beg for mercy.”
Chen Hua shot back, “Hong Kong slut, your bony body and tiny tits scream pretender. I’ve broken better women than you without breaking a sweat, and I’ll have you squirting before it’s over.”
The barbs flew thicker, Lai Fong opening her cunt and deriding Chen Hua’s loose, overused holes, while Chen Hua mocked Lai Fong’s lack of fight stamina that wouldn’t last against a real veteran. I just wanted it over and the fight to start.
Finally, they lunged at each other, combined into a tangle of limbs and tumbled to the mattress, rolling for dominance until they ended up in a classic 69. Lai Fong was on top with her shaved slit hovering over Chen Hua’s face, and her mouth latched onto the puffy-lipped cunt below.
I knew Chen Hua was good from the recent Sydney weekend. Her tongue had skills honed from years of sex work, where a lack of performance meant the political and military elite would quickly replace her with another. She wasted no time proving it, stretching her neck up to lap at Lai Fong’s hanging cunt lips. She used long, deliberate strokes that traced from clit to entrance, sucking the hood gently before plunging in deeply to swirl against the inner walls. Her hands gripped Lai Fong’s toned thighs, pulling her down closer to smother her face in her slick heat, while her own hips bucked up instinctively, grinding her bare pussy against Lai Fong’s waiting mouth.
But to my surprise, Lai Fong matched her. The restaurant owner didn’t flinch. Her long tongue flicked over Chen Hua’s clit with machine gun like rapidity, teasing the nub with precise circles before dipping lower to probe her puffy cunt lips, enjoying the first signs of arousal. Lai Fong’s fingers joined in to her tongue attack, slipping two easily into Chen Hua’s hole, then working overtime inside while her thumb pressed firm circles on the clit.
Although it is a cliché, I swear I heard wet slurps and muffled moans as they battled, their bodies becoming slick with building sweat. Chen Hua’s larger body was underneath, and her heavy D-cups jiggled with each upward strain of her neck and thrust of her tongue. Lai Fong’s slim body arched above, and her tits pressed into Chen Hua’s softer ones as she reamed out the mainlander’s slit with her tongue.
They synced into a brutal harmony, each woman’s breathing into the other’s sex so that their sex juices smeared across chins and thighs. It was all I had hoped for, and more. Chen Hua’s tongue probed deeper, flicking wildly to coax out twitches from Lai Fong’s clit, while Lai Fong countered by sucking Chen Hua’s entire clit into her mouth, nibbling just enough to skirt the no-biting rule and sending jolts up her spine.
It was a deadlock of skill. Chen Hua’s experience, honed from her job as a government official whore, was countered by Lai Fong’s fierce, unyielding hunger, probably built from years of survival in a cutthroat city like Hong Kong. Neither gave an inch, their hips and arms wrestled for superiority so they could gain top position while their clits were being continually being aroused by probing tongues and searching fingers.
Lai Fong’s moans grew throatier, vibrating into Chen Hua’s quim, but Lai Fong held steady, refusing to let the mainland veteran overpower her in this opening clash. The standoff shattered when Chen Hua’s body suddenly betrayed her.
Her moans rapidly changed into a broken, ragged cry. Her thighs clamped around Lai Fong’s head as a fierce spasm ripped through her, and her cunt clenched one more time to soak Lai Fong’s chin with a gush of cum liquid. She bucked hard once, twice, then went limp for a split second, gasping as the aftershocks trembled through her, and she shuddered from the sexual overload.
Foolishly, Lai Fong underestimated her opponent’s recovery. She pulled her mouth away with a triumphant grin and twisted around to flash me her open, hungry quim with its lips parted wide, glistening with her own arousal. “See what a real woman has?” she boasted to me, but that split-second distraction was all Chen Hua needed
In a flash, she surged up, taking Lai Fong onto her back with a thud that shook the mattress. She pinned one of Lai Fong’s legs flat to the mattress under her knee and trapped the other vertically against her own shoulder in a brutal split that left Lai Fong’s shaved slit splayed open and utterly unprotected.
Chen Hua went down on it like a woman possessed. Her tongue lashed straight at the exposed clit with controlled swipes, alternating between broad laps that slurped up the slickness and pinpoint flicks that made Lai Fong’s hips jerk uncontrollably. The fingers of one hand joined the assault, with three plunging deeply into Lai Fong’s aroused cunt, curling to rake against the inner walls while her thumb ground hard circles on the sex-nub, and pumping with a rhythm honed from years of experience.
With Lai Fong unable to stop her or mount an attack, Chen Hua deliberately and remorselessly drained her, playing the long game. Lai Fong squirmed and gasped, but to no avail, and she came loudly to bring the score to one each with each needing to drag out one cum from the other woman to win. The pair pulled back for the mandatory two-minute timeout before the final decider as the score was one cum apiece. I watched them separate, both sucking in air as sweat carved thin paths across their skin to soak into the cheap carpet.
Lai Fong, the restaurant owner who’d just been pinned and worked over mercilessly by Chen Hua, slowly got to her knees, hands planted on her thighs, sides heaving like a marathon runner at the end of a race. She was forty-two, but despite her belly heaving and the strain on her face, her tits held firm, but their nipples were stiff, dark points reddened from the arousal. Her shaved slit looked battered, its lips puffed out and inner folds hanging limply. A string of her sex fluids dripped from one before she swiped it away with her knuckles. She kept her eyes narrowed at Chen Hua, and I felt she was like a battleship that had taken heavy damage but was still dangerous due to its weapons still capable of working.
Chen Hua rested more confidently on a bent knee, despite her cunt still showing evidence from Lai Fong’s earlier eating, as her pubic area was smooth and shiny from her earlier cum, and the outer lips bloated from being worked over in the long first round. Sweat collected in the creases under each hanging breast before trickling down her belly. Despite breathing heavily, she looked the fresher of the two as the second round had been one-way traffic.
Both slits were pumped full of blood, and their clits stuck out past their hoods. Ripples still hit their stomachs from leftover shudders, a random twitch in a leg, showing neither was unaffected. They stayed silent, just the rasp of heavy breathing and the drip of sweat hitting skin from face to leg. In that pause, they scanned each other like fighters checking for damage, gazes jumping from chest to crotch to expression, figuring out who could still push through.
For me, it had been the perfect finish to an average tasting meal. The two women were well matched, and it was going to the deciding third round. Would Chen Hua continue to steamroll the Hong Kong woman, or could Lai Fong pull the fat out of the fire?
The timeout ended, and Chen Hua confidently took Lai Fong onto her back and got her head between the spread thighs. She wasted no time in latching her mouth onto Lai Fong’s shaved slit and her tongue pleasured the swollen clit in quick, hard swipes while three fingers plunged in and then pumped in and out of her pussy.
Lai Fong’s body arched up immediately, and she groaned as her body writhed in response. She started moaning continuously, and though it looked bad for her as her body shook and her shapely legs trembled, she didn’t tap out. Chen Hua pushed harder, sucking her opponent’s clit between her lips and teasing it continuously as she maintained her finger plundering. Lai Fong barely held on, with her breathing coming in gasps, and her face twisted, showing the strain of her efforts not to give in.
But it looked to me as if there was going to be no miracle comeback. Lai Fong’s resistance cracked suddenly, her body crumpling prone on the carpet with a defeated whimper, legs splayed wide in submission. Chen Hua smiled at me and shifted up to straddle her hips for the finish, mouth hovering over the exposed slit, ready to dive in and seal it.
But it was a perfect setup: Lai Fong had been playing possum, and she exploded upward, twisted her arm between Chen Hua’s thighs to lock in the feared hook grip. Two fingers curled deep into Che Hua’s cunt while she rammed her thumb up her arse and then locked down on both holes at once. Chen Hua squealed as her body stiffened from the dual invasion. She tried to pull away, but Lai Fong’s hook grip held, and she increased its pressure until the attempt was defeated. Then she set about turning the tables.
Lai Fong reached up with her free hand, fingers finding Chen Hua’s swollen clit and rubbied it in tight, relentless circles while she edged the hooked fingers deeper into the older woman’s clenching cunt, twisting them to stretch the walls. The thumb in the arse anchored it all, jammed in hard to maintain her control.
Every time Chen Hua bucked or twisted to escape, Lai Fong screwed her thumb deeper and curled the fingers inside, spiking the pain and pleasure to destroy the attempt. She took it slowly at first, her breathing steadying and becoming controlled as she methodically took Chen Hua towards her defeat, thrusting and rubbing to force the defeat.
Chen Hua’s initial squeal turned into desperate gasps. Her body writhed and twisted, trying to get free of the hook grip. Her tits flailed and bounced wildly as she clawed at the carpet for leverage. “Aaaaaaahhh, Noooooooooo,” she whimpered, voice cracking, but as Lai Fong ceaselessly pumped her quim and rubbed her clit, the pleas built into frantic encouragement, “Harder, yes, make me cum. Pleeease.”
She locked eyes with me during as her body twisted to face me, despair written all over her sweat-slick face, silently begging for help, and when Lai Fong glanced down to adjust her grip, I shot Chen Hua a quick smile and nod, mouthing “I believe in you,” to keep her fighting. But I always backed the winner, so when Chen Hua’s struggles spun her head away from me, facing the wall, I caught Lai Fong’s eye and did the same, flashing her an encouraging grin and thumbs-up while she worked, mouthing “Finish her off.”
Some more controlled arousal made Chen Hua writhe harder, and her body thrashed so violently that the two women rolled off the bed. They ended up, side by side on the carpet, with their limbs entangled, and that’s when I saw something I’d never witnessed or even believed possible. Chen Hua’s cunt muscles clamped down like my bank manager on my asking for an overdraft increase, squeezing Lai Fong’s hooked fingers so tightly her hand was trapped and couldn’t budge.
This, plus the different body angle, allowed her to roll Lai Fong onto her back beneath her. As they flipped, Lai Fong’s controlling thumb popped free from her arse with a slick sound. Chen Hua seized the initiative, jamming her own hook grip into Lai Fong’s shaved slit and arse, twisting her fingers and thumb to lock it in place. Then she set about repaying every bit of the torment she’d just taken.
She thrust two fingers deep into Lai Fong’s cunt, twisting and spreading them to stretch the walls while her thumb remained buried into her arse, where she used it to anchor and control the restaurant owner. She added her free hand to the mix, rubbing Lai Fong’s clit in fast, tight circles that made the slim hips buck wildly.
Lai Fong groaned softly at first, then more loudly, as her body twisted and writhed from the sex attack. She clawed at the mattress as her gasps turned ragged and broken. “No, I can’t ung, ungh, hold.” It was sweet music to Chen Hua’s ears, and she worked her fingers faster, still using her thumb to maintain control, wearing down Lai Fong’s resistance.
Lai Fong’s legs trembled, and her shaved slit clenched around the invading fingers, but she couldn’t break free, and her moans morphed into desperate whimpers as her composure cracked. Her face was contorted from her resistance efforts while her abdomen rippled from the unavoidable, oncoming orgasm.
Finally, Chen Hua curled her fingers and found the killer spot. She latched onto Lai Fong’s spongy G-spot and stroked it relentlessly. She used varying pressures and angles and combined it with clit rubs and thumb twists that sent Lai Fong over the edge. Her body convulsed out of control, and a final, long wail was ripped from her as her cunt spasmed and squirted, soaking Chen Hua’s hand with the evidence of her defeat.
With Lai Fong sprawled out, still twitching from her squirting defeat, I seized the opportunity as Chen Hua knelt there panting triumphantly. I moved in behind her, gripped her hips and lined up my cock with her puffy cunt, which was still wet from the fight. She glanced back as I pushed in deep, bottoming out in one thrust that made her grunt.
I started pounding her doggie style, fingers digging into her flesh to steady her as I watched her arse cheeks ripple with each slap against my groin. Chen Hua’s heavy tits swung underneath like a pendulum on a grandfather clock as she braced on all fours. Her cunt walls spasmed around my shaft from leftover arousal as I fucked her, building speed while she moaned through the exhaustion, her body rocking back to meet my thrusts.
I did notice out of the side of my eyes with some pride that Lai Fong took particular notice of the size of my cock plundering Chen Hua’s cunt.
The next day was Saturday and, to my disappointment, Chen Hua had left for China. Apparently, one high-ranking official that she had been a favourite of, inner clique was now on the outer, and she was needed in Beijing to back up the dirt gathered on him. And who says no to the Chinese authorities if you still have a Chinese passport? My mind wandered. What to do? What to do? My feet provided the answer, and I found myself entering the Canton Court restaurant.
I entered the empty restaurant, as a lot of customers must have thought the same as me about the quality, or lack of it, of the food. The door creaked shut behind me, and I approached Lai Fong, who stood alone behind the counter, wiping down a laminated menu with a cloth. I took in her slim body that measured about 32-24-34, enjoying the B cups that sat high on her narrow chest without sagging.
My cock responded as I focused on the low-cut blouse that plunged deep between her tits, the thin fabric exposing plenty of tit flesh and outlining her nipples clearly. Down lower, she wore a short skirt that clung tightly to her hips and ended north of mid-thigh, plus high heels that clicked softly as she shifted her weight.
My cock had hardened, but there were a couple of problems. First, I had promised Huyen I would be faithful and, second, Lai Fong did not seem happy to see me. The first was easy, as I have already tod you that I agree with George Costanza in Seinfeld when he said that it’s not a lie if you believe it. Similarly, I feel it’s not betrayal unless you are caught. The second? Well, I had my charm.
I leant on the counter with my best smile. “Lai Fong, you look incredible today,” I said, letting my eyes roam openly and showing that I appreciated what I saw. Finally, I spoke. “Wow, for a woman in her mid-thirties, your body is so firm with no sag anywhere, and your face with those high cheekbones and no wrinkles gives you this ageless look, and the long black hair falling straight to your shoulders frames it all perfectly.”
She kept wiping the menu without looking up, her expression unchanged, still glaring like I was the last person she wanted in her restaurant. My words bounced off her completely. There was no softening, no smile, just the unhappy scowl that had appeared from the moment I walked in. Damn, I should have said early thirties.
Time for plan B. “Enough of the small talk. I actually came to apologise to you for what happened yesterday.”
I gave her no actual details, so she was forced to reply. “Apologise for what?” she grunted.
“You know, for distracting you by giving you encouragement after you won round one and allowing that bitch to sucker punch at the start of round two and work you over. And even after that, you fought back in round three. I reckon that for the entire contest, you were on top for 65 to 75% of the sexfight. So, I have come to say sorry for denying you your victory.”
Success. She nodded her head in agreement and showed she had been listening by saying, “And it’s forty-two, not thirty-five.” I showed my feigned astonishment at that fact. As she leant forward and let me have some nipple viewing, she added, “You said, bitch. So, she is not your woman?”