The Inevitability of China

Ryan's cock was stiffening again before he'd even finished parking his car, so by the time he met Xiaojun on the front steps of his condo, it had become painfully hard.  His heart was pounding in his ears again.

From a distance, the Chinese man's face was inscrutable.  Was he excited?  Was he bored?  Was he upset because Ryan had misremembered the time and made him wait 45 minutes?  Was he about to kill Ryan? Only when they met on the stoop in front of the door could Ryan get a close enough look to see a sign.  Xiaojun's deep chocolate brown eyes pierced into his blue eyes, as they always had, but there seemed to be a twinkle of delight in them.  And the right corner of his mouth was curled up in a faint smile.  Ryan couldn't tell if it was a seductive or an ominous one.

Ryan unlocked his front door with shaking hands, entered his house, and then opened the door wider to beckon his Chinese visitor in as well.  Then he turned around to push the door shut and latch it.  Whatever was about to happen, closing that front door and locking it fast represented a barrier between his transgressions and all the neighbors outside who might be watching.

No sooner had he thrown the headbolt, then a powerful wallop hit his shoulders, and he found himself smashed face first against his own front door, with what felt like a forearm across the nape of his neck.

So, maybe it had been an 'I am going to kill you' smirk on Xiaojun's face after all.

As an employee of the CIA training, Ryan had received regular personal security training, but he was only an analyst, so the training revolved around keeping his identity secret.  It was security through obscurity.  He'd been instructed to tell friends and relatives that he worked in "government accounting".

The man behind him was silent, but insinstent.  The forearm across the back of Ryan's neck pushed harder, and Ryan felt the whole left side of his face mashed against the cold front door.  He would have to use the only self-defense mechanism he knew.

"P... please..." he wimpered pitifully.

After a pregnant pause, the Chinese-accented voice asked proddingly, "Please what?"

Ryan tried to put two and two together.  "Please sir..." he croaked.

Unfortunately, that didn't do the trick either.  The pressure holding him against the door didn't let up, and this time Xiaojun said nothing.  A feeling of hopelessness flooded into Ryan.

It was then that Xiaojun's role-play script from the night before played through Ryan's head.

'China is going to conquer the USA anyway, and there's nothing you can do to stop it,'  Xiaojun had said.  In this moment, Ryan understood how USA would feel.  And with that, he guessed what he was expected to say to continue the script.

"Please, China, don't hurt me."

In a flash, the pressure let off his neck, and Ryan wobbled back from the door.  Two strong hands took his shoulders and powerfuly yet gently spun him around to face forward.  Xiaojun's face had changed from an inscrutable smirk to a white, radiant smile.

"Don't worry, little one, we won't hurt you," he answered, and before Ryan could even fully make sense of that statement, the Chinese man was mashing Ryan's shoulders against the door.  This time the onslaught came much more gently and with the entirity of his large, muscular body, not his forearm.  Without hesitation, Xiaojun leaned in and planted a kiss on the Ryan's surprised lips, and wasted no time pushing his Chinese tongue deep into the American territory of Ryan's mouth. Eventually Ryan thought to return the favor, but every time his American tongue tried to find its way to Xiaojun's mouth, it was pushed back by a more powerful Chinese force.  Ryan surrendered and enjoyed it.

The condo was dead quiet, so the erotic sounds of their kiss echoed off every wall.  The sloppy smacking sounds.  Muffled "mmmphs" of pleasure.  Ryan's increasingly heavy and noisy breathing through his nose as he struggled to get enough air to keep up with his excitement.  Xiaojun, in his commanding dominance, was quiet and breathed evenly.

As they kissed, Xiaojun started to slowly and seductively buck and grind his hips against Ryan's trapped body.  The maneuver let Ryan know in no uncertain terms that Xiaojun was hard too -- he could feel the bulk of something solid rubbing against his lower belly and thigh. Ryan's heart sailed to know that he could turn on Superman just as much as Superman turned him on.

At last, after smothering his prey for a full minute, the Chinese broke the kiss and stepped back to survey his conquest.

"Oh god," Ryan panted, wiping his lips with the back of his hand and noisily struggling to catch his breath.  Even with his shoulders still resting against the door, he swayed a little unsteadily on his feet.

Then Xiaojun slowly, almost hypnotically brought his hand up with just his index finger extended, and Ryan stood like a deer in the headlights as Xiaojun touched it to his forehead.

Once again their eyes met -- and ironically this was the first time that Ryan came to realize the Chinese was a good 4 inches taller than his own slender 5'8" frame.  Once again, Xiaojun's face had become inscrutable.  What was this about?  Where was this going?  What was Ryan supposed to do now?

Just as Ryan's lips were starting to curl into a 'Wh...', the question was answered.  Ever so gently, but easily noticed, the pressure from Xiaojun's single index finger took up a downward component.  Ryan titlted his head in response, but the pressure continued.  Confused, Ryan buckled his knees to lower his whole body, as if trying to escape the touch of the fingertup, but the finger stayed on his forehead.  Ryan's knees buckled further, and the finger followed him down.  

The touch was only barely lighter than a feather -- just enough to keep Chinese skin connected to American skin.  More and more Ryan's knees bent, until, when he was at eye level with the Chinese man's lower chest, and then is knees gave up and buckled.  He crumpled and his knees hit the floor with a loud thud.

The script from the night before played through Ryan's mind again.  'We're going drain America into a weakling, and then you'll be on your knees to us.'  Again, he knew how America would feel.

The question that had started when Xiaojun brought his finger to Ryan's forehead had now been answered.  As he knelt, he was face to face with Xiaojun's arousal.  Ryan had felt it pressed against his body just a moment ago.  Now he was staring at it, slack jawed.  As it turned out, Ryan and Xiaojun were wearing the same style of tan khakis.  But whereas Ryan's American manhood didn't have the heft to make itself known through the fabric of his pants, Xiaojun's Chinese artillery had obviously broken free from its inner containment and was now jutting down one leg of his slacks, trapped between upper thigh and fabric.  Had the bulge been in public, it would have been obscene.

Ryan stared at the tube-shaped mound in stunned, stupid awe.  Why was he so mesmerized?  Less than a day ago, this very same cock had been pushed deep inside his ass, stretching him out, making him beg, "Stop! It's too big!" (by the end of their fuck session, he wasn't saying that anymore).  But ironically, he'd never gotten a good look at Xiaojun.  Sure, it had all started with that glance in the showers, but that had only been a furtive peak, and the Chinese had still been dangling soft.  For most of their sex, Xiaojun had been crushing down on top of him with Ryan's face mashed into a pillow.  The only other look he'd gotten was a brief glimpse of it, semi-hard and swaying heavily as Xiaojun dismounted the bed and started to get dressed.  The room had been dark, but it seemed impossibly big.

Now, Ryan was face to face with it, albeit trapped inside the fabric of Xiaojun's slacks, and its size was so impressive he imagined he could almost feel his own puny American cock shrinking evven smaller in humiliation.

Mesmerized as he was, Ryan was working through this too slowly for Xiaojun's taste.  The Chinese man was already upset that Ryan hadn't already picked up on the cue to lunge forward and start giving Xiaojun's stretched khakis with oral pleasure.  Quite literally taking matters into his own hands, Xiaojun curled his large paw behind Ryan's head and pulled his face into his bulge.  He moved with the same gentle insistance of the featherweight finger that had crumpled the American to his knees.  Before long, Ryan's face was pressed against the rod of Xiaojun's bulging khakis.

"Mmmm..." Ryan moaned in quiet pleasure.  He drew a sharp breath in through his nose, and moaned louder.  The smell was so powerful.  The first thing he noticed is how clean it smelled; it wasn't caustically soapy, but brightly crisp as if it had just come out of the drier. Behind that was something else.  Maybe it wasn't even a smell, but when Ryan drew it in through his nose, it felt as if it was working its way through his brain the way Xiaojun's long fingers were now lacing through Ryan's blond hair.

"Oh yes, there you go.  Keep going," Xiaojun cooed.  "Now then, what did you bring me from work?"

Ryan pushed aside the mind-numbing bliss of what he was doing to think about the question.  He remembered being asked.  He remebered briefly entertaining the idea while still at work.  And he remembered recoiling from it almost immediately.  Sexual role play was one thing, but breaking a rule at the CIA was way too much.  After all, leaving the office with anything much past a coffee cup would be close to impossible.  If Ryan had complied, that would make Xiaojun a spy, and Ryan a traitor.  The script they'd been following seemed dangerous enough.

Instead, Ryan had given some thought to writing up some meaningless but official looking document once he got home and giving it to Xiaojun, but Xiaojun had sunk that plan by arriving early.  So he'd have to disappoint him.  The best Ryan could hope was that Xiaojun was desperate enough to get sucked that he'd give the American a pass.

"Uh-hihh-uhhh," Ryan's muffled voice answered.

The pressure from Xiaojun's hand on the back of Ryan's head let up, and he asked, "What was that?".  His tone was flat.

"I'm sorry, I didn't," Ryan answered guiltily, too ashamed to look Xiaojun in the eye, but speaking instead to the bulge that loomed a few inches from his face.

With that, Xiaojun's fingers closed tightly around blond strands of Ryan's hair and with a sharp yank he twisted Ryan's neck back until their eye contact was forced.

"I told you to bring me something from work, Ryan." the Chinese said. The venomous displeasure in his voice was a sudden change, and left no doubt that this had been an order.

"You don't understand, I can't--" Ryan started to whimper, but his words were interrupted when Xiaojun unclenched his fingers from Ryan's hair and brought his hand across Ryan's cheek in a powerful slap. Whereas the finger to the forehead that brought Ryan to his knees and the hand on the back of the head had been gentle and tender, the slap was fierce and unexpected.  It sent Ryan sprawling, and his phone and car keys dislodged themselves from his jacket pocket and clattered noisily across the hardwood floor.

"Xiaojun, please..." Ryan blubbered.  Both his cheek and his ego were bruised and stinging.  Terrified at how this might end, Ryan quickly gathered his arms and legs under him and started to get up, but no sooner had he gotten onto all fours, another slap hit him across the face from the other direction, and he was sprawled back onto the floor.  Ryan had never started a fight, and in fact he'd never even been in one, so he had no idea how to get himself out of one.  

Now Ryan saw Xiaojun's hand balling into a fist, and a feeling of numbing dread flooded his body.  Ryan knew he was a weakling compared to the hulking Chinese man in front of him.  He'd have to talk his way out of this, it was his last option.  Once again, he remembered the dialog that was expected of him.

"China... please don't hurt me!" he whimpered.  It worked.  Xiaojun nodded and unballed his first. Ryan decided he'd follow the script that was expected of him, say whatever Xiaojun wanted to hear, and at his soonest possible moment, find a way to make an escape.

As Ryan lay on the floor, relieved but still too stunned to lift himself back up, Xiaojun moved to kneel down with muscularly thick legs straddling Ryan's torso and crushing him in a vice like grip.  His monumental Chinese cock could still be seen jutting down one pant leg, and if anything it had gotten even bigger.  My god, everything about this Chinese man was powerful! 

"You didn't bring anything?" Xiaojun asked in coldly restrained disapproval.

"No, because--"

For the second time, Xiaojun cut him off.  This time, it was by spitting on Ryan.  A thick, warm, slimy glob splattered across Ryan's face and into his speaking mouth.

"You were useless." Xiaojun said in a voice so cold it seemed like he'd already forgotten about Ryan.  It was in the past tense.  Not 'you are useless', but 'you were useless'.  The flirting in the showers, the bed-breaking sex of last night, the coy flirting by text, the kiss, the frottage, the kneel, the bulge nuzzling, Ryan's willingness to follow the treasonous role-play script. All of it had been useless.  In a flash, he stopped feeling afraid and felt... disappointed.

Xiaojun rose back to his feet and towered over Ryan, like Gulliver over Lilliput, then moved to leave without another word.

Ryan wanted to vomit.  He'd had Superman.  A Superman from China. These last 24 hours had been the most exciting of his 30 year life. And now that man's hand was resting on the brass doorknob of his front door, about ready to walk out.  And it was Ryan's fault.

His mind broke.  He couldn't let that happen.  In the urgency of the moment, Ryan found himself able to entertain a thought that had been locked in the deepest, darkest safe of his mind until now.

What if this wasn't role-play?  What if all the words had been more than a script? What if Xiaojun was an actual spy for China?  After all, when he'd finished railing him the first night they met, he'd said 'You are going to help China win.'  And he'd gotten Ryan to say it: 'I am going to help China win!'

Until now, Ryan felt guilty just enjoying a role-play that was getting too edgy for someone who worked for the CIA.  Now, he understood... this was real.  This could not possibly be more wrong.

He saw Xiaojun's hand start to twist the doorknob.  He was about to leave, and there was no doubt that when he left, he and his perfect body and his huge cock and the butterflies they gave Ryan would be gone for good.  A 30 year old, slender, tiny-cocked American like Ryan would never in a million years do better than this; he'd had a night with Chinese Superman and would spend the rest of his life regretting how he couldn't keep him.  He'd have no choice but to go back to unsatisfying sex with older American men, all of them with cocks just as disappointing as his.

Was some abstract concept of loyalty really worth that loss?  What if, in this game of cat vs tiger, his side was never going to win anyway?  Was it worth throwing away mighty Xiaojun for some battle that had already been lost?

With that, Ryan's mind snapped so hard he thought he could almost hear it.  And that's when it came to him.

"Wait!  My phone!"

Xiaojun turned to look at him, hand still on the doorknob.

"My phone.  I brought it into the secure area after lunch.  And then I brought it home again."  From his awkward vantage point on the floor, Ryan twisted his head to look at it. "I brought my phone home from the CIA."

A smile spread across Xiaojun's lips, and his hand slid off the door knob.

"Ahhh... good boy."

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Please feel free to email me at subbieusa (at) gmail (dot) com if you enjoy this story.  I'd love to hear from you

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