The Baptism of Nikki Kim

Author's note: This is fifth story in the series "The Corrupting of Nikki Kim." I recommend reading the four preceding stories first. I know my stories are on the longer side, but I try to invest in building tension and realism because I think it makes for a hotter payoff in the end. The girls in my stories don't just fuck at the drop of a hat because I don't just fuck at the drop of a hat. You need to earn it.

This story is purely fictional. As always, if you like these characters, then let me know. I read all comments and emails. Happy reading.

...

After Johan finally left our family's home and flew back to South Africa, I spent the next couple of months quietly in denial about the damage he had done. He'd been a guest in our house for less than a week, but in that short time, he'd managed to undermine the three most important relationships in my life.

First, there was my husband, Steve, my college sweetheart, a mild-mannered, churchgoing, second-generation Korean-American just like me. We'd been happily married for 14 years and I'd been faithful for all of them, right up until Johan had used my son to bully his way into my life. Now, I just couldn't seem to look at him the same way.

The sick thing was, Steve was still the man I'd married. He was funny and kind, steady and reliable, honest and patient. He had so many good qualities that still endeared him to me, yet I seemed to have lost the ability to channel those feelings into an attraction. When I looked at my husband now, I felt many things--admiration and shame, guilt and pity, sadness and self-loathing--but arousal wasn't among them.

They say that it's normal for the fires of passion to burn low over time, to mellow gently into the embers of love and companionship that will warm you until the end of your days. And certainly, my marriage to Steve had lost some of its heat over the years, with work and children and the pressures of adult life all stealing their share of oxygen. But Steve and I were still too young--just 35 and 34, respectively--for age to snuff out our marital flame. Instead, our modest fire had been consumed by blaze of epic proportions, an inferno so white-hot that it had swallowed me whole, leaving behind scorched earth in its wake.

On Saturday nights, after the boys had gone to bed, Steve would try to rekindle our flame. He would kiss me and touch me, and I would let him, hoping each time that our spark would come back. Yet each time, the wrong emotions got the best of me, leaving my insides as cold and dark as a pile ashes. The only thoughts that seemed to warm me were of forbidden memories of Johan and what he had done to me.

Johan tearing open my blouse and tossing me onto his bed in Sydney, the night that he fucked me for the first time.

Johan pushing an Ambien into my mouth with his tongue as he opened my bathrobe, the night that he emptied his balls inside my unprotected pussy.

Johan bursting through my bedroom door and pinning me down, the day that he conquered me in the bed I shared with my husband.

Johan leading me to bed by the metal loop of my bondage collar, the day that I'd finally let his fantasies become my own.

When Steve ran his fingers along the nape of my neck, trying to conjure the fire inside me, all I could think of was... Johan. Johan. Johan.

These thoughts made my heart race, but they were so shameful that I shunned them, purging them from my mind before my husband could feel their heat. It was bad enough that I had cheated on Steve so many times, and worse still that it had been with our son's friend, 19-year-old white boy with an insatiable fetish for Asian women. After all that, I couldn't bear the fact that even when my husband touched me, it was still Johan who was making me wet.

So for weeks, I made excuses to Steve, finding one reason after another to explain why I wasn't in the mood. At first, he brushed this off with mild disappointment, but eventually, he started to get frustrated. I tried to placate him by using my hands or my mouth, but my efforts were perfunctory and performative, as I couldn't help but compare his modest endowment to Johan's plundering teenage steel. I was ashamed and embarrassed by how underwhelming my husband's previously adequate, 35-year-old penis now seemed, and these negative emotions drove me to distraction even as I was trying to please him.

Within a minute or two, Steve could tell that my heart wasn't in it, and this entirely spoiled the pleasure for him. Afterwards, I would lie in bed long after Steve had fallen asleep, cursing my broken vows and praying for God to restore me to the good Korean wife I'd been, one who could satisfy and be satisfied by her husband.

Good sex may not be the key to a good marriage, but bad sex can sometimes be its downfall, and the sudden lack of intimacy between us began to manifest in other areas of our lives. Steve was a good provider, but he'd never been a big help around the house. Now, however, he wasn't even bothering with little things like putting his dirty clothes in the hamper or putting dirty plates in the dishwasher.

I let these things slide because I knew they paled in comparison to my own transgressions, but they complicated the already taxing job of being the primary caregiver to our two boys, Danny (14) and Riley (11). Unfortunately, dirty dishes weren't the only new wrinkle when it came to them.

Johan had first entered our lives as Danny's friend. They'd met through a shared love of speedcubing, the name for timed competitions to see how fast someone can solve a Rubik's Cube. As I've written in my earlier stories, Danny is on the autism spectrum, and cubing has played an enormous role in many areas of his development: physical dexterity, emotional self-regulation, and social skills. For several years, we counted his friendship with Johan as one of the greatest blessings that cubing had given to our son.

Of course, that changed as the boys got older and the five-year age-gap between them became more pronounced. As readers of my earlier stories will know, this came to a head when Danny and I traveled to Sydney for a speed cubing competition without my husband, who had remained at home in LA to take Riley to a baseball tournament. That was the trip that changed all of our lives, even if the rest of my family didn't know it.

Things with Danny had become harder since Johan's departure. For one thing, the trip itself had been something of a disappointment for Danny, who had expected to spend a lot of time playing with Johan. Instead, Johan had mostly ignored my son, focusing almost all of his attention on trying to fuck me under my family's nose. Danny didn't know why Johan had been ignoring him, but he was certainly stung by Johan's lack of interest in playing together.

This had only gotten worse since Johan left. I'd surreptitiously blocked Johan from being able to contact anyone in our family, preventing him from messaging Danny or Riley on social media, Xbox Live, Dischord, and several other channels. I hadn't told either of the boys that I was doing this, so Danny naturally assumed that Johan had blocked or unfollowed him rather than the other way around. This was a big blow to my son, who still idolized his older best friend and couldn't understand why Johan had suddenly cut the cord on their friendship.

It broke my heart to do this to Danny, especially after everything he had already been through. Building friendships isn't easy for anyone, but it's devilishly hard for kids on the spectrum, and Danny had invested a lot into his relationship with Johan. It wasn't fair for him to lose all that because of what had happened between me and Johan, but at this point, I knew it was way too dangerous to let their friendship continue. Even if Johan had once been a good friend to my son, he was now far more interested in continuing to exploit me as his Asian MILF slut, and he had no qualms about using his relationship with Danny to manipulate me. I couldn't allow that to keep happening. If I did, it would only be a matter of time until it destroyed my marriage and my family.

And if dealing with my husband and my son weren't enough, there was also the matter of my older sister, Nina.

Nina had been my only confidante, the one person who knew that I'd cheated on my husband. I'd trusted her with this information for two reasons: first, because she was my only sister, and I needed to tell someone. But also because Nina has always had a more libertine view of sex, and a long history with white guys.

At first, Nina had been incredibly supportive, more so than I could possibly have hoped for, more so than I probably deserved. But then, something had happened.

If you want the details, you should read my previous story, but in a nut-shell... I let my sister walk right into Johan's clutches. Then, in a moment of weakness and impulse that is almost too humiliating to recount, I watched it happen.

I watched the two of them together, but even so, I still couldn't tell you exactly what I'd seen.

Had Nina seduced him, or had she given in to his teenage lust?

Had Johan made a conquest of my sister, or had Nina managed to curb him?

Had she done it to protect me, as some kind of sisterly sacrifice?

Or had she done it in spite of me, just to prove that I was no match for her when it came to men?

I couldn't explain what I had seen. I could only describe it as the most breathtaking, heart-stopping, pussy-soaking scene I had ever witnessed. Whether they were rivals or lovers, kindred spirits or sexual combatants, I had watched from a crack in the doorway as they sucked and fucked each other with the grace and power and ardor of Olympic athletes.

Johan, the 19-year-old prodigy, representing Germany and South African, his ego burning like a torch, tossing my sister around like a shot put, wrestling her into submission, impaling her on the javelin of his incredible cock.

Nina, ageless at 36, representing South Korea and the United States, undaunted and unbowed, splitting herself open like a gymnast, spinning on his cock like a figure skater, giving him a taste of what it means to win gold as an alpha male.

I had watched them from the doorway, and then, it had swung open, leaving me and my sister face-to-face, the darkness in each of us suddenly exposed to the other in wordless, shameful ecstasy.

I hadn't seen my sister since that night. I hadn't spoken to her. I hadn't texted her. And it was driving me crazy.

We usually spoke several times a week, but it had been almost two months now, the longest stretch of our entire lives. I kept waiting for her to break the ice, to say something, anything. She was older, I reasoned, so she would know what to say. Because I sure as hell didn't.

But she said nothing. And I said nothing. So the days kept passing.

Eventually, the silence became too much for me to bear. I had come to count on my sister for support even during normal times, but nothing in my life was normal right now. My sex life with my husband was broken, my marriage was under strain, and my autistic son was regressing backwards socially. I needed my sister more than ever, but I had no idea whether our relationship could possibly recover.

We'd seen each other in our most raw, our most vulnerable, our most depraved state. Could I even look at my sister without seeing her riding Johan's magnificent cock, her face a transformed into mask of pure pleasure? Could she look at me without seeing me, shamefaced and breathless, pawing at my large breasts and fingering myself like a feral beast as I watched her fuck a hung white college boy?

I didn't know, but I had to find out. No matter what we'd seen, I couldn't go through the rest of my life without her. She was my only sister.

So finally, I sent her a text message:

"We need to talk"

A few hours passed, and Nina still hadn't responded, so I messaged her again.

"Can we get coffee tomorrow?"

Several minutes later, she responded, sending me the address of a wine bar in West Hollywood.

"8pm?" I wrote back.

"ok," she said.

...

I wasn't familiar with the place Nina had chosen, so I arrived a few minutes early, walking up the stairs to a second-story lounge. I could see why she had chosen it: it was small and intimate, quiet enough that you could have a private conversation, busy enough that nobody else would be able to eavesdrop. I ordered a glass of sauvignon blanc and took it over to a high-top table tucked away in the corner of the bar.

I'm not usually a big drinker, but I'd never been so nervous to see my sister, and I hoped that the wine would calm my nerves. As I waited for Nina to arrive, I casually surveyed the room, trying to blend in with my surroundings.

I'd only been there for a minute or two when I noticed a tall, Black man seated alone at the bar. It was hard not to notice him because he was staring right at me.

At first, I pretended not to see him, casting my eyes around the room in every direction except for his. But despite my attempts to avoid looking at him, I could see that his eyes were unwavering, as if he were daring me to meet his gaze. Eventually, when it seemed like I'd looked at every other part of the room, I let my eyes drift in his direction.

I felt a shiver pass through me as I met his gaze. His head was shaved, as was his face, which made his dark, coffee-colored complexion shine despite the bar's dim light. His age felt almost impossible to judge from a distance: he could have been 25, or 45, or anywhere in between. He was wearing a dark blue suit, athletically cut around his broad shoulders, with a crisp white dress shirt on underneath, unbuttoned at the collar. Based on the way he was dressed, I guessed that he might be around my age, or perhaps a few years older.

The way he was looking at me could have felt threatening, but he had kind eyes, warm and invitingly upturned at the corners. Looking back at him, it felt like I was standing in a sunbeam, and the goosebumps disappeared from my skin. Still, I was only able to hold his gaze for a second before my eyes flitted away, my sense of propriety getting the best of me.

But as I glanced down at my drink and lifted it up to take a sip, I could feel that his eyes were still on me. I thought I'd dressed rather modestly--a sleeveless blouse, dark jeans, and flip-flops, dressed up just a bit with a pair of pearl earrings, some eyeliner, and a touch of lipstick--but I suddenly felt very self-conscious.

I took a sip of wine and put down my glass, looking down at my Apple Watch and then over towards the door, wondering when Nina would arrive. But in my peripheral vision, I could still see the Black man at the bar, watching me intently, drawing my eyes back towards him.

I looked back at him, feeling a little silly, not really knowing what to do. He wasn't breaking any rules by looking at me, but did he realize how awkward he was making me feel? Unsure of what to do but feeling like I had to do something, I gave him a half-smile and a little shrug.

Immediately, he smiled back at me, patting his hand on the bar stool next to him. I kept up my little half-smile, but shook my head, no. But then, he got up and started walking towards me.

I shook my head, waving my hand at him, trying to stop him from getting up. But he just kept walking towards me.

"Hi," he smiled, his voice deep and warm, full of bass. "I'm William."

"Hi," I said, my voice a bit higher than usual. "I'm actually meeting someone."

"Can I keep you company?" he said, setting a glass of red wine down on the high-top. "Until he gets here?"

"Umm," I said, blushing. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Not sure exactly what to do, I held up my hand awkwardly, pointing to my wedding ring.

"Lucky guy," William said, seeming not at all bothered. "How many years?"

"Almost 15," I said, glancing around for my sister.

"Wow, congratulations," he chuckled, lifting his glass to offer me a toast. "So you got married pretty young. High school sweethearts?"

"College," I mumbled, awkward clinking my glass with his.

"College sweethearts," he said, taking a sip of wine. "Any kids?"

"Two," I murmured, fidgeting with my hands.

"Two kids, and still lookin' like you do," he whistled, his eyes opening wider. "Now is that down to hard work, or is that just genetics?"

"I dunno," I blushed, answering despite myself. "Maybe both?"

"God bless Asian women," he laughed. "They say Black don't crack, but we still get old. Y'all just stay girls forever, don't you?"

He was leaning across the high-top now, and I could smell his skin, a cocktail of coconut oil, shea butter, and something sharp, like an aftershave.

"Let me ask you something, Miss College Sweetheart-and-two-kids," he smiled, flashing a set of bright white teeth. "Seems like you're living the American Dream, so why are you waiting here by yourself, all pretty and lonely and such?"

"I'm not lonely," I said, glancing back at him. "I'm meeting someone."

"Yes, you are," he grinned, sticking out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

I rolled my eyes and smiled weakly, taking a sip of wine to keep my hands occupied.

"All right, all right," he laughed, pulling his hand back. "But after 15 years, your husband should know better than to keep his wife waiting. Especially a little stunner like you..."

"He isn't," I mumbled.

"So who are you waiting on?" he asked slyly, sliding around the table closer to me. "Does Miss American Dream have a little someone on the side?"

Before I could say anything, I heard Nina's voice.

"Uhh, excuse me," she said pointedly. "Who are you?"

I looked up and saw my sister standing just beyond the high-top, staring daggers at the Black guy next to me.

"Well now," he laughed, looking my sister up and down. "I must be drunk or dreaming, because I know this can't be real life..."

As usual, Nina's outfit was stylish and eye-catching: a fitted black blazer with three-quarter length sleeves, padded in the shoulders but tapered elegantly around her slim waist; a pair of black chino dress pants, tight around the waist but flared at the ankle, with a perfect pleat running crisply down the center; a lavender silk blouse with a scalloped neckline; a thin gold chain around her neck, with two oversized gold hoops in her ears.

Her dark eye-liner and red lipstick completed the look, a delicious accent to her sun-kissed skin and silky black hair, which was shot-through with amber highlights.

"Nikki, do you know this guy?" Nina said, narrowing her eyes at me.

I shook my head.

"We just met," he interjected, raising his hand towards Nina. "I'm William."

"Hi, William," Nina said tersely, crossing her arms. "Do you mind finding somewhere else to be?"

"Is it offensive if I say that you two look like sisters?" he smiled at her. "You gotta be cousins at least..."

"William," she said slowly. "Why don't you take that drink and go practice your pick-up lines on the bartender?"

"Ooh, you're feisty," he said, making a show of drinking Nina in with his eyes. "God is good..."

"Listen," she said, her voice steely. "She's married, and I'm not interested. So you either get lost, or I get louder."

"Okay, I'm going," he said, picking up his drink as he reached into his pocket. "But let me leave this just in case..."

He slipped a business card onto the table.

"I'm a divorce attorney," he grinned, looking at me.

"I don't need one," I said, pushing the card away.

"Keep it just in case," he said, pushing it back towards me. "I'd love to represent you."

Then, he turned and walked back towards the bar.

"Eww," Nina said, batting his card off of the table and onto the floor. "Nikki, what was that all about?"

"What do you mean?" I said defensively. "I was here waiting for you by myself!"