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Subject: A kept man in China, part 2 —– Readers: This is a completely fictional multi-part story involving a 25 year old white American man who finds himself at the beck and call of an increasingly confident 14 year old Chinese boy, while he is living and working in China. If you find this subject matter objectionable, please stop reading now. If you enjoy it, I hope you’ll reach out with your thoughts and comments, I am at ail. Finally, please do consider making a donation to Nifty, to support the editors who make this site possible and allow this fiction to be published! —– It was the oddest experience going back to Xiaobo’s family’s penthouse the next day. Before, when I showed up twice a week to tutor him in English and math, I knew he was waiting for his teacher to arrive and give him work to do. Now, I realized I would be the one awaiting work. For the first time, I felt nervous about being late. When I arrived, Xiaobo and his parents were waiting for me in the living room. His mother spoke no English at all (or refused to), and his father spoke English only haltingly. If they were home, they’d greet me politely and then get out of the way while I tutored their son. Now, they’d gathered and waited for me with a contract I was expected to read and sign. Except they thought I couldn’t even read it. Xiaobo read the two page contract and summarized it in English, having no clue I could read most of it myself. “It just says you will work for us as a… um… butler, and you can live with us without paying any rent, and we will pay you a regular monthly salary, and if you cook for us, then your food will be free too. In this paragraph, we request that you never bring people over to our home, or take any of our belongings–“. “Oh! Of course I would never do that,” I chimed in politely. “And there are a few bahçelievler escort other things in the contract… um…” Xiaobo continued, voice becoming vague. “Your salary will be in RMB, you will not be able to cash these out for US dollars of course.” “That makes sense,” I said jauntily, although that did seem slightly concerning. “And, unfortunately, if you do something terrible, we’ll cancel the contract and your visa to work in China ends so you’ll have to leave immediately.” Xiaobo said, striking a tone of “hey, don’t blame me, I didn’t write this contract.”. “But I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” I answered, feeling a bit more concerned about my powerlessness in such a situation, but still not willing to change my mind. “Will you sign here, then?” Xiaobo said, flipping to the second page and handing me a pen. As I prepared to sign my name, my eye caught a few words in the last few bullet points above the signature line. “… obedient and polite …” “… deeply respectful of Chinese culture and wishes…” Those seemed vague and overarching, completely foreign to any contract an American would expect to sign. My hand hovered a moment over the signature line as I considered it. And then something inside me realized that being “obedient and polite and deeply respectful” was hardly an imposition. I had no desire to be rude to Xiaobo and his parents, after all. I signed without giving myself any further time to think, and they all shook my hand. Even Xiaobo’s mother managed a “thank you” in broken English. “Xiexie,” I responded, thanking them in Chinese. They smiled to hear my attempt their language. “If you live here for long… our Xiaobo can teach you some Chinese,” the father said earnestly. It seemed like Xiaobo’s lips curled into a knowing smile; his teacher bakırköy escort had just been vanquished and converted into his pupil! By the end of the first day, I actually felt guilty that I hadn’t yet earned my keep. They’d simply asked me to spend some time setting up the guest bedroom to my liking, and taking some cardboard boxes down to the recycling bins, nothing more. For the most part, they ignored me. It reminded me that I hadn’t joined their family or become their friend, I was just an employee. Conversations went on with no attempt to include me. It wasn’t until late that evening, retreating to the privacy of “my” room, when I took out the contract I’d signed to translate and read it more completely, that I understood the full nature of my new position. The second to last contractual item read: “The Servant is expected to be obedient and polite to all family members at all times, and must always answer their requests eagerly, or employment may be terminated. This expectation extends to requests made by friends and acquaintences of the family, for instance in social occasions, in public, and so on.” A mild feeling of powerlessness came over me, but also an odd thrill to find out just what would eventually be requested of me. It was as if something long dormant inside of me had a hunger to be given a task with no choice but to do it. I have to admit, the position that put me in caused my cock to stiffen for some reason. The last contractual item read: “The Servant is reminded that their residence and employment is in the People’s Republic of China, and therefore the Servant must always be deeply respectful of Chinese culture and wishes, above any they might have for themselves.” That seemed like a bizarre demand to make in a contract, but I’d lived balgat escort in China long enough to know the kinds of things Chinese people would prefer not to hear or discuss with a foreigner, especially an American. Then I remembered the contract was for 5 full years. I wondered how much the relationship between China and USA would change in that time? This contract made it clear that, at least for those five years, I’d better be on China’s side of those changes, or I’d be quickly on my way back to America and the promise of no job. Gazing out the window at the sparkling lights of mega-skyscrapers of Shanghai in the distance, I felt a sense of being a small fish in a big pond. “I’m an American servant in China,” I said out loud, as if needing to make my own situation clear to myself. And I won’t lie, at that point my cock was really starting to get hard. “American servant.” I repeated to myself. Just then there was a knock at the door, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I hid the contract away, and adjusted my pants to hide the fact that I’d grown stiff. It was Xiaobo. He came by to wish me a good sleep, but then he paused. “I hope you realize that you are not just my tutor anymore,” he said tentatively. “I think we both realize that… sir.” I threw the sir in ironically and with a slight smile. Xiaobo nodded politely and did not object to be calling him sir, unaware I’d used it ironically. Now it didn’t seem so ironic. Perhaps it was expected of me from here on out? And with that, I went from a 25 year old American tutor making a living in China, to a man-servant waiting for orders from a 14 year old boy. I was about to ask if I could fix him breakfast tomorrow when he said goodnight, turned on his heel, and walked out to go to bed. I resolved to wake up especially early to bring back some fresh baozi and surprise the family with a tasty breakfast. By that time, I realized something I’d never admitted before: I wanted to be a servant. I stood in front of the floor to ceiling window, looking out over the sprawling symbol of Chinese economic power, and put my hand into my pants to rub my stiff cock. This is where I wanted to be.

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