Yellow Fever Ch. 03

TRIGGER WARNING: This story will definitely not be to everyone's tastes. The author does NOT in any way condone the actions or attitudes featured in this story. If you are offended by stories featuring rape and/or raceplay (or are squeamish about childbirth), READ NO FURTHER.

If not, please enjoy.

***

I felt the contraction as a steadily building wave in my belly and I rolled back my head in response. Taking a deep breath, I exhaled sharply as the contraction peaked, pushing in sync with my uterine movements as it rippled through my gut and into my crotch. It wasn't quite excruciating, but it was pretty intense all the same. It felt like the sensation of throwing up oriented downwards - throwing down, I guess - and each one lasted up to a minute. The contractions came every few minutes or so, as they had been doing for the past few hours.

I was lying naked in my Jacuzzi tub filled with water, with my doula kneeling by the side, holding my hand and encouraging me every step of the way. As a single mother-to-be, I had no intention of having to commute back and forth to a hospital when I could have my baby in the comfort of my own home. Another contraction came and I closed my eyes, moaning in pain through gritted teeth and squeezing my doula's hand as I pushed.

I really didn't want to, but I just couldn't help thinking back to how this all began. Lying on my back, exposed and vulnerable with an intense pain between my spread legs was an all too familiar experience for me. His overpowering strength and frenzied urges had gotten me pregnant against my will, and here I was nine months later delivering the result.

The next contraction arrived and I breathed and pushed in response. I could hear my doula urging me on, speaking words of encouragement into my ear. But my mind, lost in labor-land and addled with ever more intense birth pains, conjured up my rapist in my doula's place. I knew he wasn't there - the front door was triple-bolted shut - but he continued to intrude into my mind just as he had my body.

Every rhythmic ripple of downward pain reminded me of his penis inside me - even though the baby was far bigger than he was - stretching the walls of my poor pussy with each intrusive, uncomfortable thrust. That was a pretty perverse thought to have during labor, to be sure, but a hard one to dispel given the context.

One humiliating difference was the fact that I'd orgasmed pretty intensely both times he'd forced himself on me, the first time no doubt helping to get me pregnant in the first place. There was nothing orgasmic about this, though; this was an ordeal of pure pain and strain, an ordeal my rapist had imposed on me by force.

Unbidden and unwanted, I also imagined him speaking to me, my doula's words uttered in my rapist's voice. I pictured him looking down at me, naked and vulnerable, my belly swollen with his child. I even visualized the look of triumphant smugness on his face as I sweated and strained to deliver his offspring into the world.

"You're doing great, sweetheart," I heard his voice in my head, dripping with mocking encouragement, "Keep pushing. Breathe deep and squeeze my hapa baby out of your sweet little Asian snatch."

The new life that had been growing in my belly was a wonderful thing, but it was also a constant reminder of the father's sick case of yellow fever. His racist fantasies of sexually dominating cutesy Asian girls had borne fruit, literally; and I was the one bearing it. I couldn't keep that thought out of my head, or his imaginary sexual taunts, because I knew they were the sorts of things he would say if he could see me now.

"Keep pushing, my little chink whore," I imagined my rapist taunting me, "Keep pushing your White master's baby into the world."

I obeyed as another contraction coursed through my body, stronger than before, pushing his baby another inch or so closer to being born. There wasn't much I could do to silence the mental sound of my rapist's racially-tinged gloating or dispel the mental picture of his arrogant smile as he observed me enduring the pain and indignity of squeezing the living, breathing proof of his virility out of my cunt. I would just have to deal with it.

Something clicked in my head. No. Why should I just have to deal with it? This was MY baby. MINE. Why the fuck should I allow the hallucination of him to claim victory and ownership over my body? True, I couldn't exactly deny his role in all this; but I had grown this baby inside me for nine long months without any help from its creepy, racist father. There was no reason why I should let his imaginary taunts get to me now.

Yet another contraction came, stronger still than the last, and I pushed even harder in response. The baby was almost out. Through the mental fog of labor, I could vaguely hear my doula excitedly telling me that the head was visible, even though I could scarcely feel any difference down there. Just one more push, one last god-awful roiling down through my gut and my baby would be born.

In the final, excruciating minutes of labor, even the imaginary representation of the man who had made me this way was silent. Good. He should damn well keep his smug mouth shut. This wasn't his moment of triumph, it was mine. This was the final stretch of the most important event in my life, and I was damn well going to own it.

The last and strongest contraction arrived. I pushed with all the strength I could still muster, my efforts aligning perfectly with the immense and excruciating tidal wave of internal muscle movement that rippled down through my intestines. The pain and effort were so intense I cried out to the heavens, roaring like a lioness without giving a damn if I woke the entire floor. My efforts paid off as the last thing I remembered clearly was feeling the mass lodged in my vagina slide out of me into the bath water.

*

I came to, feeling like I'd awoken hours later with an awful hangover, when in fact it had only been about 30 seconds. My doula had scooped the baby out of the water and expertly handled the rest of the birth process. I awoke to the sound of my newborn crying, a sound that made me want to cry with unrestrained joy. It was a girl, too.

Fresh from the womb, her skin was a ruddy, pinkish color, and her eyes were scrunched shut as she wailed; but my doula assured me she looked perfectly healthy as she wrapped my little girl in a towel and handed her to me with the utmost care. I accepted her gingerly and cradled her in my arms, rocking her gently to soothe her crying.

Physically, I was exhausted. My whole body felt as though I'd just run a 12-mile marathon non-stop; and my crotch was unbelievably sore, having been put through the most intense workout a woman could endure. Mentally, however, I was overcome with joy. The nine long months of being burdened with an ever-growing belly, and all the discomfort that it had caused me - even the indecent assault that had caused it in the first place - had all been worth it.

Eventually, the beautiful little bundle in my arms calmed down and settled into a contented sleep. I wanted to fall asleep with her after what we'd both just been through, but I had to stay awake a little longer as my doula checked my nether regions for tears. None were found, but she recommended no sex for the next 6-8 weeks all the same.

I hadn't told her about the father, and my doula's advice brought him back to my mind unbidden and unwanted. It was hard to tell in my exhausted state, but squinting at my baby's face, I could definitely make out some White Caucasian features: her nose was narrower than mine, her eyes looked slightly rounder, and the little bit of hair on her head looked blondish-brown. I'd once read some little factoid that at birth, newborn babies resembled their fathers more than their mothers, apparently in order to persuade the man to stick around. I certainly didn't want my particular man 'sticking around'.

And yet, looking at my daughter dozing blissfully in my arms, I simply couldn't bring myself to hate my rapist. Not today. Not for this. Part of me even felt sadness at his absence. I almost wanted him to be here, to see for himself how his selfishness had brought at least some good into the world. He may be an arrogant, racist asshole, but he was an arrogant, racist asshole with a beautiful baby daughter.

Then again, maybe I was just projecting my own personal joy onto him. My hatred for him genuinely had dissipated, but I would never run the risk of letting him near my baby. If he came near her or me, I would kill him.

*

My doula stuck around for a few more hours until mother and child were settled and safe before leaving. I kept my daughter in the bed with me, sleeping on her back with my arm around her, keeping her warm and protected. We slept for hours until she awoke, announcing with a wail that she was hungry.

Still exhausted, I sat up in bed and gingerly lifted her up to my breast. While she suckled contentedly, I looked over at my alarm clock. It was almost eleven at night. I knew I'd be doing this several times a night for the foreseeable future. My programming projects were all flexible - just as well, seeing as they were my livelihood - but my other little project would have to be put on hold for the next few months.

It was amazing how much you could dig up on someone starting with only basic contact info, but thanks to the business card I'd snatched from him three months earlier, I'd learnt everything I needed to know about my baby's father. I now knew who he was, what he did, where he lived, and what his routine was like.

My baby finished suckling and went back to sleep. I lay her back down next to me and cradled her in my arm again. I had the beginnings of a plan formulated, but it wasn't about revenge. The hatred and grievance I had felt would have made retribution incredibly sweet, but my baby's arrival had banished the hatred. My rapist had given me at least one gift out of this nine-month ordeal: the beautiful little bundle sleeping next to me.

No. My plan wasn't about revenge, it wasn't even about justice - at least not in the legal sense. It was about securing my daughter's safety and future. Her father had come for me a second time only three months earlier, making clear that he felt entitled to my body whenever he pleased. I had to prove otherwise to him.

*

The panel beeped as he finally completed 10 miles on the cycling machine. Still hyperventilating as he slowed to a halt, he dismounted and grabbed the towel from the rack, wiping the sweat from his forehead. That was a hell of a cardio workout. The gym had changing rooms, but bizarrely there were no showers. Better to change out of gym clothes at his apartment.

He drank the last dregs of water from his bottle before heading back to the changing rooms. A pair of gym tweens walked past him in their sexy yoga pants and sports bras, bellies bared to the world. He flashed a smile at them and they smiled back at the handsome blond with big, toned muscles. He suppressed a wolfish grin. So much fine meat on display made him want to fuck them right there on the floor till they squealed. Outfits like that were practically entrapment. Maybe he should start researching them.

Heading towards the men's' changing rooms, he passed by an exotic Asian girl with long, silky black hair tied back in a ponytail coming in the opposite direction. She was sexy as fuck, and yet somehow familiar. Then he remembered: that was the Asian slut he'd fucked six months earlier, and six months before that, too. She passed by him without a glance. Of course, she did. She'd never seen his face, so there was no way she'd recognize him.

He entered the changing rooms and opened up his bag, pulling out a water bottle full of electrolytes and other nutrients, draining half the bottle to replenish himself. He sat down for a few minutes to recover his strength, thinking back to his Asian fucktoy.

She'd struggled like a feral cat the first time he'd fucked her, but she'd been a lot more obedient the second time around. In fact, the second time around, she'd been sporting a big round belly. Not anymore, apparently. He broke into a proud smirk, knowing full well what that meant. The sexy little gook had birthed a half-white baby for him, a permanent reminder of the man who'd subdued her. The baby must be a few months old by now; maybe it was time to visit her again and make sure his half-white bastard had a sibling...to play...with...

He snapped back to attention again, having started to nod off as he recovered his breath. How the hell do you start nodding off after a workout? He was tired, sure, but he couldn't be that wiped out. And yet the drowsiness had crept up on him without warning, and a headache was building inside his skull, too. Maybe better to head back to his apartment and lie down.

He packed the bottle away in his bag before slinging it over his shoulder and leaving. On his way down in the elevator, the drowsiness weighed heavier and heavier on his head, like something had been put into his drink. Who the fuck would drug somebody's sports drink? He could barely think about that as he stumbled towards his apartment, fumbling with his keys to open the door before stepping inside and blacking out...

*

I stood in the shadows - out of sight and dressed to kill - with a single light in the room illuminating my prey as I waited for him to wake up. Dragging his unconscious body across the floor and strapping him into that chair without hurting him had been tough. He clearly worked out, and all that muscle meant he weighed a hell of a lot more than I did. But I'd managed it, nonetheless.

And where the fuck had he gotten a chair like that from, anyway? There was a two-part leg-rest equipped with restraints for each leg, and a set of built-in cuffs behind the headrest positioned so that the prisoner's wrists would be held on either side of their head. But the funkiest feature of all was that every section was adjustable via remote control. That way, someone could forcibly spread or close the person's legs as well as make them sit up or lie flat. Who the fuck came up with shit like that?

So much the better, I'd planned to tie him to the bed, but this weird, BDSM chair of his was a lot more convenient for my plan and would make for much better blackmail material. Not to mention, for the first time ever, I could safely get a good long look at the man who had changed my life so dramatically.

And what a man he was. He had a full head of blond hair and a hyper-masculine face, complete with a square jaw, chiseled chin, and a layer of fine stubble forming the ghost of a beard. His whole body had the toned muscles of a model and amateur bodybuilder, as well as being amply equipped downstairs. He wasn't just handsome, he was downright hot. A man with a body like that didn't need to force himself on anyone, surely. I would probably have let him take me home if only he'd asked.

I heard him groan as he finally stirred from his drug-induced slumber. He moved his head ever so slightly and tried to open his heavy eyes. Then he discovered not only that he couldn't move but that he was also as naked as the day he was born. He began to shake his wrists and ankles violently as he tried in vain to wriggle free of the restraints. I took that as my cue.

"Morning, sunshine," I said, stepping into the light.

My rapist's struggles ceased as he took in the sight of the woman before him. A tall, Asian beauty with long, silky black hair, and Venusian curves. I was wearing absolutely nothing except a pair of knee-high black boots with 4-inch heels. Despite childbirth widening my hips, I still looked sexy as fuck, and I could tell from the steadily rising rod standing to attention between his legs that he thought so, too. As he squinted through the light at me, recognition appeared on his face.

"You...?" He said in evident disbelief.

"Yes, me." I couldn't do a supervillain's triumphant cackle, but I did manage a vaguely predatory smile.

"What the fuck's going on?!" He demanded angrily, resuming his struggles against the restraints, "did you spike my fucking water bottle?!"

"Duh." I replied, "I can't exactly wrestle you to the ground the way you did me."

"HELP!" He shouted, violently shaking in the chair. I marched forward and jabbed a Taser into the flesh of his inner thigh, zapping him on full blast.

His entire body jerked and tensed up as the electricity froze his muscles and subjected his leg to searing agony. After a few seconds, I withdrew the Taser and let him recover. The electric shock had left a tiny burn mark on his inner thigh just visible under the light. He was hyperventilating in pain, but his cries for help had ceased. Still panting from the pain, he looked up at me absolutely livid, his face and eyes seething with anger.

"Fuck you, you fucking chink slut bitch -"

Before he could finish his abuse, I stepped forward again and planted the Taser on the seat of the chair, right between his thighs, with the metal prongs just touching his testicles. He froze, tensing up with a mixture of suppressed anger and acute fear.

"Call me a 'chink slut' one more time," I said to him with menace in my voice, "I fucking dare you."

I looked him dead in the eyes, those gorgeous blue eyes, and I could see him wrestling with his predicament. It was the chauvinistic arrogance of a man used to having women at HIS mercy now confronted with the sheer impotence of his situation. Being tied up whilst a woman - an Asian woman, no less - directly threatened his manhood made him burn with anger and frustration, and I could see the fury blazing in his eyes. Slowly, however, his gaze softened and his muscles relaxed as he accepted his position.

"Good boy," I said with a succubus's smile. On a sudden impulse, I leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips. All this domination was making me feel hot.

"What do you want from me?" He demanded, this time in a lower and politer tone.

"Before I get to that, let me introduce myself." I said, removing my Taser from his crotch area and stepping back again, "my name's Annie Chang. Oh, but you knew that already, didn't you? I mean, that's how you tracked me down in the first place, isn't it?"

"What are you talking about?" He asked.

I walked over to a table and pulled up some of the papers I had pilfered from his desk, flipping through them in front of him.

"Derek Stahl." I read from the printout of his LinkedIn profile, "high-flying headhunter with numerous Fortune 500 companies as clients. Baseline salary of $35,000 with uncapped commissions." I then pulled out one of his tax returns, "which brings your total annual salary to $150,000. Holy shit! I mean, I know that's before taxes, but that's double what I make in a year."

"So basically, this is just extortion and blackmail." He spat with contempt.

"It's no worse than rape," I retorted breezily, "but you're partially right. Basically, I need you to fill out some paperwork for me."

I pulled out the strange chair's special remote control and pressed a button. The chair's little motors whirred as it repositioned the chair from reclining to sitting upright. I pulled over a smaller table and stood it next to him, placing a set of documents on the table and providing a pen.

"The first document will permanently waive your custodial and visitation rights to our baby daughter. I don't want her rapist father coming anywhere near her. The second document binds you, in so many words, to pay a certain amount in child support each month."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He asked in disbelief.

"No, I am not." I replied bluntly, "which brings me to the third document, a form setting up a monthly direct debit from your account to mine to the tune of $3000 per month plus inflation. I've already taken the liberty of filling out your bank details, and I'll fill in my own when I get back. So all I need from you is your signature."