Smutpunk on Skates Read online

  SMUTPUNK ON SKATES

  A four-book series of Asian Smutpunk featuring yoga pants, butt plugs, and roller-skates!

  “True Control is in Submission.” –Lana Choi

  SMUTPUNK ON SKATES

  By Emme Hor

  Copyright © 2017 by Emme Hor

  Smashwords Edition

  SPANKable Productions / Girls Carrying Books / ComeMiPolla Press

  This eBook is the work of Emme Hor and Girls Carrying Books and as such is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting author copyrights.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Please join Emme’s Mailing List to get a FREE book

  and info on all her new orgasmic releases.

  Table of Contents

  Part 1

  Part 2

  Part 3

  Part 4

  Free Book from Emme

  Part 1 - Romance with Skull Candy & Skates

  Prologue - Heather and Lana Meet

  "Shit," she exclaimed breathlessly. Heather was wearing her yoga pants. She was basking in the warm Malaysian air as she rolled down one of the hills in Kuala Lumpur. This street was not paved well and her pink glittery wheel caught in a small, deep crack in the pavement. One wheel broke and lodged the whole rollerblade track off-center. It was impossible to continue skating without looking like a chicken in skates.

  Heather tied the laces of both the skates together and threw them around her shoulder. She hailed a cab. She looked mighty sexy standing on the side of the hazy street, with her hair stuck to her sweaty forehead, her pants tight and her ass even tighter in them. Her lips parted slightly as she was still a bit out of breath and sexily sucking air.

  A red and blue taxi pulled up slowly. The driver gave Heather a lusty once-over before the door opened automatically. She threw her skates in the back and got in. She sighed as the driver started out toward her part of town, outside this boozy downtown area.

  Heather knew she should have bought the imported roller blades rather than the local pair. She was deep in her thoughts until the driver pulled up in an alley with the tires making crackling sounds as they rolled to a stop over the loose pebbles of this abandoned alley. It wasn't her street and she wondered why the driver had stopped. She looked out the window trying to figure out where she was when the driver climbed in the back. Before she could react, he smacked her with the phone in his hand.

  He threw her back and kicked her skates down to the floor. He yanked her yoga pants down, scratching her skin harshly with his long fingernails. He got on top of her. He smelled of stale cigarettes. He fumbled with his belt buckle, then the zipper on his jeans.

  An older woman was walking past outside. She had never cared for taxi drivers and saw this guy hurriedly fiddling with his zipper. She walked up to the window to get a better look at what the hell was going on. She saw a young woman, semi-conscious, with blood dripping from her temple. She opened the taxi door and started beating the driver from behind.

  "Get the fuck off of her, you pervert!" As Lana hit the guy, Heather came to her senses and kicked him off. She kicked the driver out the taxi and he fell on the ground with his awful dick sticking out of the zipper.

  Lana grabbed Heather, "Come here, honey!" and they walked away from the pervert and his broken dick. Lana took Heather back home and cleaned her wound. Lana had lost her husband and Heather had lost her father. Immediately, Heather trusted her. Anyone who would jump in and save a stranger's ass like that was a good person.

  After Lana treated Heather’s wound and put a small bandage on it, she said thoughtfully, “If you don’t have to be anywhere, I’m about to eat some rice. You can stay here and rest for a while.”

  It was a strange offer, but Heather liked Lana already. She needed a surrogate Mama as her family was a fucking mess.

  Heather

  Heather was a wonderful young lady. She was part Chinese, Indian and Malay—what the locals called Chindian-Melayu. She was tall, but not spindly like some of these pure Chinese women. She had gorgeous curves and juiciness of some of the other races. People often said she was stunning and told her that her mixed blood elevated her beauty.

  Heather worked for a local education company. It was a good job by most standards. It was professional. The money was good. They helped educate young Malays in English, Mandarin, and Bahasa Melayu. Heather was good with languages and had studied computers enough at university to land this job, designing curriculum and software to help the bright Malay children who would be this country's future.

  Lana was proud of Heather's work. She was proud of her girl. Ever since Lana rescued Heather from the lecherous hands of that dirty taxi driver in the alleyway, she had taken it upon herself to make sure no harm came to Heather. So far, Lana had done a stellar job, but Heather had yet to experience heartbreak and there was nothing Lana or anyone could do to stop that.

  When a young woman falls in love with a man, she will do anything for him. The power of a young woman's love is boundless. We will see how this was the case for Heather. We hope that’s not the case for you because it’s a shitty position to be in to be like a chick from some jackass indie romance erotica. It won’t do you any good in real life, so fuck that shit.

  Heather was dressed professionally and minding her business in her office when she met Liam for the first time. She should have known she was in for trouble from the way he was dressed. He was wearing a very expensive suit with all the trimmings of crazy wealth. Most Malay men wore suit pants, a dress shirt, and a tie. Occasionally, they threw a blazer on top.

  Liam was in an impeccably fitted suit with jacket, vest, shirt, and tie. He was layered. He was neat. He wore it well. He had a purple handkerchief that suggested royalty. His tie was monogrammed. He screamed money. She should have admired him from afar, but he walked right up to her with that cocky gait that he had going for him. His face was neatly shaved, his jaw was strong and he looked buff. His eyes were steely like a military bastion, yet they were beautiful. His hair was combed back in neat waves—not long, but nor short. He looked like a white angel to Heather. She always found Western men attractive, but this one was exceptional. As soon as she saw him, she wanted to be with him, to submit to him, to please him, to do the Harlem shake for him, twerking in flashing strobe lights while he sat and watched her.

  For two years, nobody in the office had intrigued her to give them a second look. Now, after two minutes in the presence of this man, she felt alarms going off in her head and a spotlight shower her in him. It was like his essence had surrounded her. She was already trapped and paralyzed. All she could do was stare.

  Her co-worker in the cubicle next to her asked her, "Heather, are you okay? Your cheeks are all red!"

  This beautiful specimen was looking at her. Even though he’d come to chat with Charlie, her co-worker, this gorgeous man's steely blue eyes were on her. They weren't just casually looking at her. They were devouring her. They were looking at her from head to toe. Heather blushed ever harder.

  Liam

  Why don't you just ask the bitch out, man? What? You get tongue tied. Hehehe, are you out of your twisted fucking mind. It's fucking easy to seduce these Malay chicks, man. Just make 'em feel wanted, that's all. Fuck that works for any chick—from wholesome American housewife to
jaded Malay princess types. Then once you have them addicted to that shit, pull it away. You need to learn to be an alpha. All the time. Alpha, man. Alpha Alpha Alpha.

  You? Nah. You're a big, wet pussy. Why don't you just finger your own pussy and fuck yourself then. Because with that attitude you're never scoring a hot, smart chick like that. She's a catch. You need to project confidence around her, dipshit.

  You think I'm all talk? You don't think I can get a butt plug up that big phat juicy ass within a few weeks. Oh, you're on, mothafucka. No, not one ringgit, you cunt. At least put it in a real currency. One dollar, okay. Deal.”

  That Fucker

  It was the second time that fucker had jerked Heather around and broken her heart. Heather had been raised well, but in front of that fucker (as her step-mom had nicknamed Heather’s personal tormentor), she was powerless. He was well endowed—yes, but that should not be reason enough for her to drop to her knees, as weak as horny Superman in the face of dildo Kryptonite. Other guys had big dicks. Big deal. So what? He needed to treat Heather better. She was fed up with him. She deserved better.

  She was supposed to be his princess—not just a skank for him to use and be another notch on his solid Vietnamese mahogany headboard.

  At first Heather and that fucker’s sex life was normal. It was all fun and loving, she thought. He kissed her, hugged her, said nice words to her, but then she felt like he was getting bored. He was a rich, handsome white man in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, working for a big powerful bank. Women flocked around him like birds around a ripe sunflower. She started to make exceptions. He dressed better than other guys. The same suits just seemed to fit him better. He had a good body with nice definition. Colors suited his skin tone perfectly. He even smelled better than other guys. His cologne and natural scent were more subdued than most but, in its subtlety it was quite a powerful mix of sweet and musky. She started to do more than she felt comfortable with to make sure he was hers. First, she let him push her head down onto his dick when sucking, something she’d never let a Malay guy do to her. Never. Then Heather let him take her ass. It hurt. But she did it to keep him.

  Heather wanted him to stay. To love her. She undressed for him in public. She sucked his dick in bathrooms, stairways, in front of temples, on dark streets, on highway overpasses. She gave into all his whims. His whims continued to become more depraved.

  Late at night on a deserted overpass, she let him shoot his seed all over her face while she was wearing a tudung—the Malay headscarf. She was Chindian-Malay and didn’t wear a tudung for any religious reasons. He just wanted her to wear it to shame her in a kind of race and religion role play. She let him. He ruined the pretty scarf and then made her walk around with the stained scarf for a few minutes.

  Once he took her out to a posh steak restaurant, which thrilled her. She got all dressed up, wore her best, tightest, sexiest red dress. He also made her wear a big teardrop-shaped butt plug. She consented.

  In front of the restaurant, was a parking lot. Behind it there was a stairwell leading to a photography shop. It was a small Asian-style arcade utilizing space by cramming stores everywhere. Right after the chocolate mousse dessert, they’d fucked on the steps and he pulled the butt plug out of her ass and in public (although Heather didn’t think anyone saw) he said, “Suck on the plug, whore.”

  She had to hold back tears. She wanted his respect but he wanted to make her a whore. Submitting was the only way to make him happy.

  He pushed the teardrop shaped plug past her lips as tears welled in her eyes. She was gorgeous and he was as hard as ever. When the plug entered her mouth, it was settled. She was his. Her ass was puckered.

  All that mixed emotion of lust, fear, inferiority complex, insecurity, desire, and pride made her asshole pant like a sub in other romance erotica novellas. In this one, it wasn’t the woman panting, it was the asshole. Heather’s asshole was opening and closing as the emotions swirled, cloned, and expanded in her mind and then started to leak out of her.

  “You’re so wet,” that fucker said as he mopped her dripping emotions up with his massive cockhead.

  She felt faithless as her asshole opened and took his big Western cock inside of her. He was neither gentle, nor abusive. He was certain. He knew that her ass was already his and he took it like he owned it.

  She felt horrible about her circumstances in some ways. She was a strong woman. What was she doing getting ass-fucked on this public stairwell in front of the family photos of husbands, wives, and kids posing wholesomely in neat dresses and expensive sweaters? Heather was bent over and sucking on a butt plug. Yet despite the feeling of being used up her virgin asshole, it was also incredibly exciting. The excitement was pleasurable. She was in pain—both emotionally and physically and she was also in pleasure. Heather didn’t know what to expect. That fucker made her nervous, but he excited her beyond measure.

  She went home alone that night. He drove her home and was polite, but he never invited her to stay with him. He drew a line in the sand between them.

  As soon as she got into her flat, she jumped into the shower to wash away the ick. Her whole body ached in the most delicious way and her asshole felt like it was on fire. She cried as the tepid water washed away their combined juices from her orifices. Once done, she brushed her teeth and gargled with mouthwash to get the taste of her ass and the silicone butt plug out of her mouth.

  “I should taste steak, not ass,” she reminded herself as she turned in for the night after applying a cool facial mask.

  A few day later, he texted her instructions to meet him. She thought it was progress in their relationship and took care to dress sexily in a tiny, whimsical dress. She went to his penthouse first thing in the morning. As soon as she walked in, he pounced on her and tossed her onto the couch.

  “Ass out, spread, and ready!” he gave quick, fervid instructions. He smelled of whisky. He then defiled her ass quite violently. When he finished, he left Heather there. She was still wearing her clothes, although her floral dress was hiked-up and her panties were around her ankles. Her shawl was still around her shoulders. She hugged it. Her asshole was on fire. Again.

  They used to do all kinds of things together—boyfriend and girlfriend stuff. He used to hold the door for her; pull her chair out for her; send her gifts. They had dates—dinner, movies, cafes, romantic locales. He was a lot of fun for Heather since he was handsome and had money.

  They went to the Petronas Towers one day. They walked out onto the Sky Bridge—the amazing steel tube that connects the two towers majestically. They went up at dusk on a Tuesday when it was desolate. The tourists were out of the city, thanks to the heat. Outside, the sticky city sparkled, just beginning to turn on the lights for the night, while still catching and reflecting the last rays of the setting Sun. The Sky Bridge was made of glass and steel. It was cut in strong geometric patterns. Heather felt like she was watching one of those boring Star Wars movies he liked to watch. Every time he put one on, they ended up in bed. She would do anything to avoid more sci-fi. According to an educational plaque on the wall, Islamic Stars rotating up toward heaven had inspired the two towers.

  Looking down from the bridge, Heather could see that the road below formed a triangle with a rectangular fountain forming a pathway toward the entrance of the building. Beside the fountain were two rows of palm trees. Even indoors, she could still smell the distinctive palm oil scent of KL. The whole scene down there looked like a well-manicured pussy.

  Before Heather knew it, that fucker hiked her skirt up to her sexy midriff and his tongue started running circles around her clit. He plunged his tongue between her meaty pussy lips and into her slit. Heather was in ecstasy, quickly escalating into nirvana. She shuddered and grabbed the back of his head, looking around them on the Sky Bridge. They seemed to be alone.

  “Yes. Keep licking, lah. It’s so good,” Heather moaned. She covered her mouth with her hand, embarrassed at herself for sounding so Malaysian. She wanted to be an upstandin
g, classy woman in his eyes. However, the joy of being licked let the little Malay slut leak out of her mouth, along with her pussy juices onto that fucker’s devilishly handsome face.

  He picked up the pace. He worked faster and deeper. Heather encouraged him by slowly grinding & swiveling her hips over his lips. This was the blingdom of God—yes.

  He was an animal.

  Cupping her ass.

  Wedging his tongue into her wet slit.

  Flicking her nipples.

  Putting his fingers in her mouth.

  Making her cum, cum, cum like a bucking nymph—right there in public.

  He was rough with her pussy—but just enough, making her cum hard. But not so rough that it turned into a pain and abuse session. For Heather, yes lah, it was the perfect kind of torture to make her pussy gush and her soul shudder.

  “Couples in KL Tower just stumbled on quite a show,” he smirked.

  Heather brushed her bangs off her forehead and blew the stragglers off by pushing out her bottom lip and exhaling. She then lowered her skirt down to cover her gushing cunt and reorganized herself, smoothing herself over.

  “What are you talking about?”

  That fucker pointed to KL Tower. “High-powered binoculars over there. They could probably see your slutty clit swell.”

  An embarrassed giggle slipped from Heather’s mouth. Nobody had called her a slut before meeting that fucker. He used the word as much as Malaysians used lah. While she was thinking about this, Heather felt a hand on her head, pushing her down.