Keiko Awakens

The Yamamoto's were normal enough.

Maybe if it weren't for him, they would've been normal, without the 'enough'.

After all, Hiroshi Yamamoto was a bit of a domineering force. He knew how to turn on the charm, understood cars from the inside out. And he was a discerning, coordinated father figure. When he was alone, however, when it was just him and the kids and his old lady, those qualities, while still present, become inverted into the worst kind of acumen; the stubborn, severe, sometimes short-tempered kind, around which you kept your voice down during dinner, used formal honorifics when addressing him, said yes when he asked something of you.

So, when Mr. Yamamoto announced he would be out of town for the weekend on business matters, and, for an interim, out of his wife's and the kids' lives, they released a collectively suspended breath together.

Keiko's mom spent a good part of the day walking about the local park and smelling the roses, while her brother, Arnold, tinkered in his self-constructed garage band.

She, meanwhile, took the opportunity to chat with friends in a conference call in the living room while one of her favorite game shows ran in the background on the flat screen. It was small things like these that often got swallowed up by a tension that no one really felt until it was lifted, and the weight that had been pressing upon them loosened, and they could breathe easy again.

Sure, the kids loved their father, and his wife did her best to be supportive. But everyone could use some distance at times.

That Saturday was a relatively easygoing 24 hours for the Yamamoto family, capped off by a casual family dinner in front of the TV.

Keiko went to sleep dreaming of her innermost passion: dancing on a stage, feet gliding and thumping across the floor as she moved in perfect rhythm to the upbeat, misty music alongside her fellow crew-mates.

Sure, it was never to be -- she simply couldn't follow a tune in elegant pivots and turns for her life -- but hey, it didn't hurt to play the fool.

The next day, Keiko woke up and broke into a yawn, her stretch causing her long-sleeved buttoned shirt to slip above her trim stomach.

For some reason, she felt different. Better. More... assured. Of what, she couldn't say.

After all, it was always like this. Every day was a day to be shoved down to the ground and stomped under her waltzing feet. That was a metaphor, of course. But applicable.

When she climbed out of the bed, she swayed each hip to the side as she passed by a body sized mirror and took the chance to admire her self, and her curves. It should've been no surprise -- she was an Asian, so obviously she was blessed with immaculately drool-worthy assets, the apex in this case being her cock-hardening booty.

She giggled, coquettishly cocking a hip as she alternated her weight from one leg to the other while turning her butt towards the reflecting surface perceptively. "Shake what your okaasan gave you, gurl." The cute Asian girl raised a hand then brought it down to smack one ass cheek, rubbing up its scrumptiously shaped curvature with an approving eye before she tore herself away and walked off, presumably to wash up in the bathroom. By the time she'd descended down the steps, donning a skirt that ended just at her shins and a black blouse which dipped down to show off some tantalizing cleavage, she found her mom was nowhere to be found. Keiko shrugged it off, deciding to watch some MTV as she sat against the wall, nabbing some fruit from the kitchen.

Later in the day, she was dozing off, when the doorbell rang through the house.

When she opened the door, an average built, relatively inconspicuous older man stood before him. Once the morning haze was cleared from her brain, she immediately recognized him as Lenny Fogsworth, her neighbor from a few houses down. She'd lived on this street for nearly a decade now with her folks, and Mr. and Mrs. Fogsworth were always friendly. "Hello, is--OH MY SHIT, KEIKO?"

Keiko blinked. Lenny was as pale as a ghost. Scratch that, pink, now. Upon closer inspection, she couldn't help but question: was he checking her out?

Inside, Keiko couldn't help but feel a throb in her loins.

This man wanted some, didn't he? He wanted some of her.

Because of course he did. He, after all, was just like every other hot blooded hetero man. The question above? That was rhetorical.

She pressed an arm against the doorway, leaning forward to give Lenny a good look down her top.

"In the flesh, you handsome thing." She smiled under half-lidded eyes, licking her lips suggestively. Tangible accent be damned. "I see you're... happy to see me."

"Well..." After a second or two of nothingness, Lenny shook himself out of it. Then an obligatory throat clearing. "Yeah. I... wanted to talk to your mom about something, but... yeah, erhem. I guess... I could come back later."

Keiko giggled. "You'll cum back later?"

"Er... yeah. Maybe."

"Mm-hmm, sure thing, baby." A wry upturn of her lips was accompanied by a smoldering look that could probably help a sterile man achieve orgasm as she half-whispered, half-confided to him. "Don't make me wait too long."

As he retreated down the steps, Lenny turned to see Keiko looking over her shoulder at him, skirt covered ass facing him. His eyes nevertheless dropped down, and frankly glued themselves onto her backside in a shameless display before her. She decided to let him have his visual treat as she smiled and waved before closing the door and wiggling away.