Can you picture her? If you were fortunate enough to espy her in a crowd, you would do a double take, and triple. If you were with a date, you would do your best to sneak peaks in her direction whenever possible. If flying solo, as you are now, you try to get away with gazing at her for minutes on end.
She is the personification of alluring, and it starts with her full, Asian, catlike eyes, stunningly highlighted by a trace of shadowy eyeliner. Her dark brown hair is pulled into a pony tail to show off her large, hoop earrings. As she converses with her friends, the hoops gently bounce against her face, softly kissing her cheeks. You are mesmerized by those earrings. The fuck-me hoops seem to enhance her sexuality without making her look like a slut. She plays those earrings like a finely tuned instrument.
Her body is tight, a work of art, accented by a perky pair of 33Bs constricted by a spaghetti-strap tank top that is perhaps one size too small. But the taut cotton only accentuates her toned midsection, which draws your eyes down to her hips, screaming at you from within the belt of her low-rise jeans. Her ass is firm but supple, the result of hundreds of hours spent bicycling. She is well aware of the effect she has on men, and has worked hard to maintain it.
Her belly is tight and tanned. Her navel is pierced, a silver charm embedded within.
Your eyes return to her face, and you jump when she realizes she has caught you staring. You instinctively shoot your eyes down, hoping she is not angry that you are ogling her. But when you return your gaze to her, she is still fixed on you, smiling. Her smile strikes an unusual dichotomy of girl-next-door sweetness and I-could-swallow-your-cock-whole sex demon.
You smile back, like an idiot, thinking you have a chance with this girl. You wrack your mind for a clever icebreaker, just in case her friends leave her alone and you work up the courage to approach her. Your opportunity presents itself earlier than expected. One of her friends gets up to use the rest room, and the other goes to the counter to pay for their coffees.
You have a small window of time, but before you can make a move, your eyes lock again. She cocks her eyebrows up, asking if you are man enough. She leans back against the chair and lets her right hand brush against the top of her breast and down her cleavage.
She ever so slightly parts her legs, not at all obscenely because of her jeans, but reeking of implications. It is at this point that you realize you are not man enough. With just these two simple gestures, she has you hard, and there is no way you are going to stroll across the cafe with a full erection trying to fight through your zipper.
As a last ditch effort, you try to cast a smile her way, but her friends have returned, and you resign yourself to the fact that the only additional pleasure she will grant you is the pleasure of watching her walk away. She doesn't even look back.
If you had built up the nerve to walk over to her and ask her name, and assuming she was feeling honest, she would have answered, "Monique," although all of her friends called her "Mokie."
.....
Judging strictly from aesthetics, Mokie was your typical, spoiled southern California hottie. But this is only party true. She did come from money, and her parents certainly spoiled her, but she was far from typical. She was incredibly smart, abiding by a school-first mentality that had her at the top of her class.
When she was 18, a senior in high school, she was attracting boys in college. At this stage in her life, she still believed in the concept of love, and she had the pick of the litter. Unfortunately, she chose poorly.
Of all the men who would have thrown themselves at her feet and worshipped her, she chose the one who was indifferent to her charms. His name was Jason, an undergrad student at UCLA, and the only son of Mokie's neighbors. He had been a fantasy of hers since she knew what sex was, but he always had a train of new girls filing into his bedroom. He was two years her senior, and light-years older in terms of maturity and sexual experience.
One weekend towards the end of the school year, Mokie's parents hosted a barbecue for all of their neighbors. When she heard that Jason would be there, Mokie did herself up in her cutest outfit, a light, yellow sundress with simple white sandals. The lack of effort she needed to look sexy was perhaps her sexiest attribute. She was a pure beauty.
When Jason and his family showed up, Mokie was relieved to see that he had not brought a girl with him. She bided her time, waiting for him to be alone, nervous about flirting in front of her parents, or anyone else for that matter. When Jason went to the bar to replenish his drink, Mokie made her move.
"Hi," she said, trying to look and sound as sweet as possible.
"Hey," he said, nonchalantly. Not the excited response she was hoping for.
"So, I just got into UCLA! We're going to be sharing a campus next year!" She was clearly more excited about this than he was.
"Congrats," was his only response.
After a few minutes of awkward conversation and even more awkward silence, Jason admitted that he was feeling down because his date had bailed on him. Of course, in his mind, he was always looking for the next girl anyway. So it wasn't this one particular girl that had him down, it was his lack of prospects for that night.
Suddenly, pouncing on the opportunity without giving it much consideration, Mokie asked "Perhaps I could tag in for tonight?"
Jason's eyes went wide. Despite her obvious beauty, he had never considered her as a sexual partner before. When he was a young boy, Monique's family had moved in across the street. The Asian influx into southern California was at its peak, but the white citizens in the area did not always approve. He remembered his father, a Vietnam vet, using words like "chinks" and "gooks'" when referring to the new neighbors. In high school, white boys who paid too much attention to Asian girls were diagnosed with "yellow fever."
As a result, he had never thought of Monique as sexy, in the same way he thought of a tanned, blond "So Cal" girl as sexy. UCLA Asian coeds had opened new horizons for Jason, especially when he needed to confirm the rumor that Asian pussy went sideways, not front to back. It had only taken him three weeks into his freshmen year to confirm that was just "white trash talk."
Nevertheless, he had never thought of Monique as sexy, but with these seven words, that wall came crumbling down.
A minute later, he was taking her by the hand back to his house, out of sight from their parents. They ran upstairs and into his bedroom, closing and locking the door behind them. He turned to her and grabbed her head in his hands, bringing his lips to hers. It was the first time Mokie had kissed a guy so passionately, let alone in a in a bedroom alone with one.
She did not know what to do with her hands, opting to just hold onto his waist, pulling him into her. His tongue forced its way through her lips and explored the entirety of her mouth. She was nervous as hell, not wanting to appear so inexperienced. He broke off the kiss and tried to calm her down.
Looking deep into her eyes, he said "Mokie, calm down. I don't ever have sex on the first date, so you don't have to worry. I will let you give me head, though."
Mokie was wracked with trepidation about having to give him a BJ, but she did not want to show fear.
"Here, let me show you," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and guiding her down to her knees. He dropped his shorts down to his ankles along with his boxers, and his semi-erect dick popped into view.
From there, Mokie's recollection of the next five minutes was really just a collection of senses. The feel of his hand gripping the hair behind her head as he fucked her mouth. The smell of his dick and the sweat forming on his abdomen as it ground against her face. The failure of her hands, feebly clasping onto his waist, to slow him down.
But above all else, Mokie remembered the sounds. As his dick assaulted her, the sounds of her "mmphh, mmphh, mmphh" flooded her ears. When she opened her mouth to breathe, it changed to "kack, kack, kack." She felt so humiliated, his flesh plugging her up.
Finally, the ultimate humiliation, the sound of him groaning as he flooded her mouth with cum. The sticky, salty substance swarmed around her mouth, but she refused to swallow it. She could not stoop that low.
Jason held his dick in her mouth until his breath slowed, at which point he pulled out and his cum expelled from her mouth. She hung her head in shame, eyeing the cum that had fallen onto her sundress. Stoically, she fought back tears and sobs, hoping that Jason would be happy with her.
"Thanks, Mokie," he said. "That was awesome." He sat back on the bed and turned the TV on. After two minutes, Mokie realized that he was done with her, so she got herself to her feet and went to the bathroom.
Inspecting herself in the vanity, she washed the cum off of her chin, and dabbed the spots on her dress. There were two primary stains, one on her right breast, and one just above her right knee. She could not get them out.
Composing herself, she moved down the stairs and out the front door as quietly as possible. With the barbecue in the back yard, she ran across the front yard and into her house, unseen.
