Christina
- 3 years ago
- 10
- 0
One Thing Different 2: Christina free porn video
CHRISTINA
I
Christina smiled into the camera. "And that's how modern man took the
first steps on the road to creating central heating." She turned to the
other camera. "Next we'll be stepping into a different time and finding
out exactly what it was that the Roman's... fed to the lions."
She held the smile for five more seconds.
"We're clear," said the cameraman. "That's great."
The characteristic scowl returned to Christina's face. "What a waste of
time and who writes these shitty words?"
"I thought it sounded good."
Christina gave him a one second glare. "If I wanted your opinion I'd
have asked for it monkey boy."
She walked away but stopped when she heard him grumbling under his
breath and turned on the spot. "Don't forget the distinction here. I'm
the talent. You're the hired help. Just be careful how you talk when I
can hear you."
She headed back to her dressing room, wishing she hadn't bothered to
come in to work today. She was sick of doing these documentaries. The
only thing good about them was they were better than the game shows.
Sure she was upping her profile and all that and she was starting to get
very wealthy, but she wasn't sure this was what she wanted to do for the
rest of her life.
She slumped into the chair in front of the dressing table and looked at
her reflection. Thanks to the plastic surgery and the dental work she
was gorgeous. Nothing wrong there. Being Oriental made her beauty exotic
- a cut above a lot of the other presenters, and the elocution lessons
had long since gotten rid of that terrible accent. And she looked
perfect in the sleeveless blouse that showed off her slender arms and
the tight knee length skirt that showed off her legs. All that was good.
Then why was she dissatisfied?
She didn't know. But it was probably something to do with seeing her
friends the night before. All that talk of how different their lives
would have been if just one thing had been different.
What had she said? Yes, that was it. If her parents hadn't moved to
England when they had - If they'd only moved recently. God, how bad
would that have been? She wouldn't have had any of the experience or
background she had. She wouldn't have had the surgery or the teeth job.
She'd barely be able to speak the language. She could never have got a
job in television - not as a presenter.
Urgh. She shivered. It wasn't a pleasant thought.
Then she giggled, thinking about what Anna had said when it was her
turn. She could be borderline offensive at times but also very funny.
There was a knock on the door. "We're ready to start the next segment Ms
Ward!"
She glanced toward the voice. "Velly good. I be there in minute!"
"Okay!" The man's footsteps receded.
What had she just said? That hadn't come out right at all. The crisp
English accent had completely dropped out of her voice.
Feeling odd, Christina repeated what she had meant to say quietly.
"Great. I'll be there in a minute."
It came out fine that time. When she'd said it first it had sounded like
she was some dimwitted Jap straight off the plane.
How odd.
She said a few more things, just to be sure but it didn't happen again.
Then she shrugged and made her way back through to the studio.
II
When Christina returned to the set they had already set it up to look
like part of a roman coliseum, complete with a life size lion on wheels.
She sneered. The whole thing was low budget and pathetic. She was going
to look like a fool if they kept cutting financial corners like this.
She mentioned as much to the director but he did little more than shrug.
He had no real influence here. The producer was really in charge and he
was a nasty fat bald man called Henry who didn't seem to like her much.
He was watching her now as she got into position, arms folded across his
massive stomach, a huge fold of fat around the lower half of his chin.
Christina ignored him and checked whether the autocue was ready. It was.
Her first line was Hi. I'm Christina Ward and I've gone back in time to
a real Roman coliseum to watch the brutal and often deadly games.
She straightened her blouse and smiled at the camera as it started to
roll.
"Herro. I Meko Chan and I go back in time to rear Loman corriseum to
watch brutar and deadry games."
She paused, perplexed and cleared her throat then continued more
steadily, frowning. Why had she used her original name, rather than the
anglicised one she'd changed it to. What was happening to her voice?
"Lomans velly bad. They take Clistians plisonar. Feed them to rions.
Velly bad."
Christina's hand shot to her throat. What the hell was happening to her
voice? She looked round at everyone in the studio. Many of them were
smirking but none seemed particularly surprised.
She peered at the director beyond the lights. "What going on? Why I talk
no good?"
"You're asking me?" he sneered.
Christina rubbed her throat. "My voice no sound good. Me talk velly
velly bad. Me no understand." She suddenly felt humiliated beyond belief
but though crew all round were chuckling and grinning, no one's reaction
was as strong as it should have been.
"Yeah, well maybe you were a bad choice for testing the microphone Meko.
Why don't you scurry on back to your mop bucket and get cleaning."
"What you say?" Christina used her arm to shield her eyes from the
lights. "Why you call me Meko?"
"Because that's your name you dumb chink," said the sound engineer.
Christina gaped at him. She went to respond, "What the hell did you say
to me?" But instead, sputtered the words, "What you say? Me velly solly.
Me no understand so good."
"Get out of here!" he snapped and snatched the microphone off her.
The crew started laughing openly. Christina felt humiliated, the
righteous anger draining out of her. "Why you laugh at me! It no my
fault I no spek so good! Me no understand what is going on!"
This was a nightmare! What was happening to her?
Someone pushed her in the back of the shoulder. "Get out of the shot
Chinka Chompa. Go on!"
Chinka Chompa? What the hell were they calling her that for? It had to
be a practical joke! They'd spiked her drink somehow - something that
made her talk weird. This whole thing was just a big trick to get back
at her for her attitude. They were all going to laugh at her any second.
But no one was even looking at her now that she was out of the
spotlight. They weren't getting ready to yell, "Surprise!" They were
ignoring her completely.
Another woman had entered the spotlight now. Most of the people were
focused her way. She couldn't understand what was going on! She tried to
pick up the gist of what people were saying, hoping to get a hint of the
practical joke but they were all talking so fast. She could only pick
out odd words.
She should have worked harder to learn her English. She should have--
Hang on. It was years since she'd learned to speak English! Why did she
think that it...
She got distracted as the well dressed woman was given the microphone
and told that the cameras were rolling.
"Hi," said the woman, "I'm Barbara Jones and I've gone back in time to a
real Roman coliseum to watch the brutal and often deadly games."
Christina shook her head, staggering backwards, her hand coming up to
cover her mouth.
A man harshly whispered, "Watch where you're going Chinka Chompa!"
Then she went down, her ankles coming up against some of the sound
equipment, the strength faltering in her legs. She hit the floor hard,
cracking her shoulder blades and knocking her head.
All around her people were calling out, then someone had her wrist. They
were helping her get to a sitting position.
"God Christina, are you alright?"
She couldn't get a breath. Everyone was standing round her in a circle,
looking concerned.
"What happened?" she asked, dazedly noticing the crisp English accent,
the lack of Asian slant to her words.
"You must have tripped as we started the piece," said the director. "Are
you okay sweetheart. We were worried you'd really hurt yourself."
Christina looked all around, peering through the legs of the assembled
onlookers. "What happened to that woman?"
"Woman?"
"Barbara... Jones. Barbara Jones. Where is she?"
"Who?"
The sound engineer said, "Never heard of her. Here. Let me give you a
hand." He and the director helped her get to her feet. "You alright?"
"Yes. I'm fine. I'm totally okay. I just tripped. It isn't important."
Everyone looked relieved. The looks of disdain they'd been giving her
moments earlier were completely gone as though they'd never happened.
That woman; Barbara Jones; was nowhere in sight. Christina rubbed her
temple where she'd banged it. It was like the whole last five minutes
had never happened.
They led her to a seat and sat her down then fetched her some mineral
water. Everyone was fussing round as they normally would have done.
It was crazy. But she had to have imagined it.
There was no other explanation.
III
Once she'd finished filming, Christina splashed out on an extravagant
meal for the principle members of the crew. Affording it wasn't a
problem and she felt... the need to... make a statement? To make a
statement of wealth. Of her position. Of her importance.
They were just a bunch of sycophants - normally spending time with them
irritated her - but it felt nice to have the attention after that
awful.. what? Dream? Hallucination?
She ate the most expensive dish on the menu and ordered the best wine
for everybody then went for drinks and a club later, one of the
exclusive ones that didn't allow plebs inside.
She signed autographs and basked in her fame, such as it was; basically
doing everything she could to reassure herself that that nightmare
wasn't real. Still, she couldn't help feeling disconcerted by the
realism of it.
It was after 2am when she got back to her extensive apartment
overlooking the river. She felt tired and the sudden aloneness coupled
with that to leave her drained and slightly down. She still wanted to
talk to somebody but it was so late.
She really wanted to call her friend Samantha. Maybe that wasn't such a
bad idea. She was the manager of the car dealership. It didn't matter if
she went in late next morning. Christina took out her phone and brought
up the number, then paused.
She smiled and shook her head, almost laughing at herself. Manager of
the car dealership. What was she thinking? Sam was just the
receptionist. Her boss would have her for breakfast if she came in late
or looking tired.
Although in all likelihood she'd been out tonight, letting yet another
man grope her tits and cover her neck in love bites.
Christina loved Sam to bits - they'd been friends for years - but she
sometimes wondered if maybe the difference in their lifestyles was a bit
too broad. It was embarrassing being seen out with her, flashing her
cleavage and bare legs in short skirts and high heels. She'd turned into
a real slut since her career went down the toilet - almost like she was
trying to prove something.
Well, what did she expect? She had slept with her boss. Always a
mistake!
Christina put that out of her mind and put her phone to charge on the
dresser, then almost without thinking opened the top drawer and pulled
out the pack of photographs inside. She had no idea why.
They were pictures from when she and her family had first arrived in the
country. She thought she'd thrown them away. She flicked through them,
one after another, letting them fall onto the surface below.
They were eminently cringe-worthy. Her and her parents looking
embarrassingly eastern and unsophisticated. They'd been poor in Japan
and desperately so as well when they moved to England. Just to look at
the unfashionable clothes, the hair in a pony tail, the protruding
overbite. Just thank God she'd had the surgery to correct that!
It made her remember her incident earlier in the day; the nickname
they'd called her. Chinka Chompa.
Chompa. Because of the teeth.
She shuddered, touching her mouth now to reassure herself that she
wasn't losing her mind.
She shook her head, smiling at her own paranoia. Then paused and lifted
the last photo closer to her face.
It showed her and her parents at the airport on the day they arrived in
the country, grinning inanely into the lens as a passerby took the
photo. In the picture, Christina - Meko then, before she'd changed her
name - was wearing a plain high-necked blue dress with a little collar.
She was grinning like her mum and dad, all her front teeth on display
like an idiot.
But something was very wrong with it.
She looked older than she had when she came to England. And her parents:
they looked older too. Her face was fuller. Her arms rounded and
slightly chubby; her torso fuller.
And behind them on the wall in the picture was a clock and beneath the
clock was the date. She stared at it. Then she checked the date-stamp on
the negatives in the slot at the front of the packet.
Then she paled and the pressure of the day suddenly became too much.
As she fainted, the last photograph fell from her fingers. It landed
face up beside her unconscious body, clearly displaying the date of her
arrival to the UK.
One month earlier.
IV
As soon as Christina awoke she knew that something was horribly wrong.
Horribly terribly wrong.
This wasn't her apartment.
It was a tiny squalid flat filled with clutter and a hugely Asian slant
to the d?cor.
She was lying on the floor and as she scrambled up she looked about
herself in something approximating terror. What had happened was
impossible. Well, maybe it was possible - maybe she could have been
carried here by someone and left - but why would they do that? Why would
anyone--?
"Meko?"
She froze. It was a woman's voice coming from the other room.
"Meko? You awake nar?"
Christina felt cold suddenly, right down inside her. Because she
recognized that voice. But it was all wrong.
It was her mother's voice but she hadn't sounded like that since--
The older woman emerged from the bedroom and smiled, a Japanese woman in
her mid fifties. "Meko, you be good girl. Make blekfast for papa."
Christina just stared. This couldn't be her mother. Her mother was the
wife of a wealthy solicitor. Her English accent was impeccable. Her
clothes were impeccable. She'd lived in the UK for ten years! But now
she looked like the woman in the picture. She looked and sounded like
she'd just stepped off the plane.
"You hear me Meko? Blekfast. Food." Her mother stared at her for a
second. "You no understand? I told you we must speak Engrish all time.
All time so we learn better. You hear me?"
"Yes. Me hear," said Christina, blurting it out. "Me hear good. Me
understand velly velly good Engrish nar."
Her hands covered her mouth, her eyes gaping above them, then she felt
something that froze her blood.
She ran into the little bathroom and stared into the filthy mirror,
shaking her head in negation at what she was looking at, at the overbite
she had now, the overextended teeth that had been vanquished over ten
years earlier.
She stared at the way the oversized teeth came out over her lower lip,
reaching up gingerly to touch them, shaking her head in repulsion. Then
she noticed her hand and her arms and as she held them out in front of
her she saw how much rounder they were. She wasn't obese but the slim
athleticism she'd always maintained was gone.
In the mirror her face was rounder with a slight double chin, and the
cosmetic surgery was gone. Her face looked far more Japanese. She really
looked like an ordinary chubby dimwitted Japanese nobody!
It was like - exactly like she had stayed in Japan all these years,
working in the noodle bar she'd worked in as a teenager. She looked and
sounded like she'd never left; like all these years she'd remained there
going into a slow decline.
None of this was possible! It couldn't be happening!
"Meko? You aright?"
"Me no understand," she cried. "Me not know why this happening! This not
right! This wrong!"
"Meko?"
She burst out of the little room. "Stop calling me that!"
Her father was there now too. And he looked like a Japanese peasant. He
had been a rich businessman but now... All that had gone.
"What happen?" asked Christina. "What happen to your job?"
He smiled benignly. "Job good. Job velly good. Factory pay. Earn lotta
money." He grinned like an idiot as Christina's mind tried to make sense
of this.
If they hadn't moved when they did. If they'd only just moved. Ten years
older and no background. Her father had missed his opportunity. Their
family was in ruins!
But this wasn't possible! They hadn't moved here recently! They'd moved
years ago! They'd each of them landed on their feet, grabbing great
opportunities and making fantastic lives for themselves.
"I speak good!" she cried. "I speak good Engrish! I start to learn last
year from TV shows and--"
Both parents were still smiling at her, though with concern in their
eyes.
That wasn't right. She'd learned years and years ago. She had perfect
intonation.
"You go work now," said her mother, placing her hand on Christina's arm.
"You work hard. Make rent. Help pay flat, yes?"
She couldn't speak; couldn't reconcile with any of this.
She looked again at her chubby arms, her full figure. She felt again at
her exposed upper teeth.
She cried out in panic and ran from the flat and out to the street,
taking only her coat with her.
Or she'd thought it was her coat. When she wrapped it round herself she
realised that it was threadbare and patched. It was only now she
realised that all of her clothes were wrong. They were cheap and
completely unlike her normal attire; undeniably Japanese; an image she'd
tried to run far away from.
They were the clothes from the photograph.
With tears rolling down her round face, Christina checked her coat
pockets and found her purse at least. She checked it for cash and was
disappointed not to find much. But there was still enough for a bus.
She had to get to work; get somewhere normal. Everything would be okay
again. She didn't want to risk losing her job. Cleaning jobs weren't
easy to come by for a stupid Japanese girl with no qualifications. She'd
already been warned several times about being slow and not following
instructions but it was so hard. Everyone spoke too fast. How could she
understand them?
She frowned, feeling unsure of herself suddenly. She looked at the
street, at the bus stop ahead, at the people walking by. There was
something wrong here but she couldn't tell what it was... something
awfully wrong. But she had no idea what it was. This was the way she
always walked to the bus stop since she'd landed her cleaning job at the
TV studio. There was nothing different from any other day of the week.
But then why did she feel like everything was wrong? Like she should be
screaming somehow?
Disconcerted but still confused, Meko waited for her bus and got on,
blushing when the driver said something in English she couldn't
understand.
She watched the English people chattering away, feeling ashamed at how
poor her own understanding was. She'd heard that learning languages
later in life made it much harder. She would probably never be able to
speak it or understand it like a native. She would still be struggling
well into middle age. And she'd never lose her thick Japanese accent.
That was certain.
She sighed heavily, wishing she and her family had come to England all
those years ago as they'd originally planned. How might her life have
been different then? But it wasn't to be. And she had no way of
bettering herself now she was in her thirties and her language skills
were so poor. She would probably be cleaning floors and toilets for the
rest of her life.
It was a full twenty minutes later when her heart suddenly started
pounding, her entire body flooded with adrenaline; as she realised how
long she'd lost herself - really started believing that she was some
stupid Jap.
For that whole time she'd really believed she had only just come to the
country. She'd really believed she couldn't speak properly.
"I can speak English," she muttered to herself, intoning the words
perfectly now. "I moved here ten years ago. My name is Christina now."
The bus pulled up outside the studio and breathing heavily from panic
and relief, Christina climbed out. She hurried across the road and in
through the front doors, desperate to get somewhere where she could
focus her mind; try to stop what was happening from happening.
"Morning Meko!" called the security guard.
"Good morning mistah Jacobi," she replied. "It velly nice sun today.
Velly nice day. No rain."
He waved at her as she walked past and she smiled sweetly, covering her
teeth with her lips in embarrassment as an afterthought.
When she reached the cleaner's store room she collapsed against the
door, gasping for air, desperately trying to clear her thoughts.
"I'm Christina. Not Meko. I changed my name years ago. I got to rush
now. Do job. I not get paid if I not quick; crean velly good"
She went inside, opened the locker with the name Meko on and put her
cleaner's smock on over her clothes. She tied her hair back with an
elastic band and checked herself in the mirror. She looked plain and
needed to be more careful with her diet but she looked fine for the hard
work she'd be doing. She wished she looked prettier so that she might
get noticed and be given a job on television. She wished her teeth
weren't so big.
"And I wish I speak good Engrish," she said sadly.
In the main studio, they were filming the next part of the documentary
they'd started the day before. Barbara Jones looked incredible in her
fancy suit and make-up. Meko gazed at her whistfully as she started her
piece, wishing she was as pretty as that and as sophisticated.
But it was no use. She'd never amount to anything.
"Chinka Chompa!"
She looked round. "Yes? You call me?"
It was the sound engineer. "The boss wants to see you. Get up to his
office now or you'll be out on your chubby Asian arse!"
She hurried upstairs, knocking quietly before entering the boss's
office, the middle-aged man giving her a crease-faced leer as she came
demurely in. He repulsed her but she pretended that he didn't for terror
of losing her position.
"Yes sir. I here," she said. "Was my creaning no good? I do better next
time, I plomise."
The old man grinned at her. "Come here Meko. Where I can see you."
She walked closer to him, afraid of the expression on his wrinkly
bloated leering face.
"Was my creaning no good?" she asked. "I work hard. Crean velly good.
You see."
"Get on your knees," he said. "I got something here I want you to give a
real good cleaning."
"Me no understand," she said. "This no right. Me no understand."
"You understand you need this job, right?" said the old man.
Meko nodded.
"Then get over here and get down on your knees." He started to unzip his
trousers, shuffling forward on his seat.
Meko looked at him, feeling sure in part of her being that this was all
terribly terribly wrong. But then that feeling ebbed away and she looked
at the hairy thing he was extending from his trousers and told herself
she couldn't expect better than this.
She got down on her knees, tears welling in her eyes and Mr. Johnson
spread his hairy legs a little further, allowing her to get close. She
looked up at Mr. Johnson's leering face and blinked as the tears blurred
her vision.
"Get too it then Chinka Chompa," he said. "And make sure you're careful
with those gnashers of yours. I don't want it bitten off." He chukled
then wheezed and coughed and as he did so, his fleshy growing penis
jerked up and down.
Meko steadied it with her hand and Mr. Johnson groaned in pleasure, then
she leaned forward, opening her mouth wide and extending her tongue. She
put the massive disgusting thing in her mouth and closed her lips around
it, licking it with her tongue.
And as she caressed it and fondled his ball sack with her fingertips,
she kept telling herself this was her life now. This was her only
choice.
She'd only just come to this country.
She had no prospects.
She had to do what he said or she'd lose her job as a cleaner.
Elouise
- 08.06.2021
- 5
- 0
