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A deeper look at Betty Nguyen from Risk Vs. Reward.
If you have not read Risk Versus Reward, this story will probably hold very little interest for you. It’s mostly backstory and is pretty light on sex. It is also fairly long and a bit of an emotional roller coaster, but fear not, if you read Risk Versus Reward, you already know things turn out well for Betty and her girls.
This story jumps around in time, from many years after the events of Risk Versus Reward, to many years prior. To help keep things straight, all of the present day story (post Risk Versus Reward) is written in third person. The events of the past are written in first person from Betty Nguyen’s point of view.
The events and characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This story contains elements of dominant-submissive role playing and it is intended for mature audiences only.
All characters engaging in sexual activity are eighteen years of age or older at the time.
* * *
Interview with the Domme
Part I — Thunderbird and Whale
Karin, now a middle-aged woman, stood on the farmhouse doorstep, taking a moment to smooth her coat and skirt before reaching to press the doorbell. The doorbell was one of those hi-tech models with an integrated camera, and Karin wanted to look her best, even though it had been some time since she had addressed the woman who lives here as Mistress.
“Hello, my dear,” came the distant and tinny-sounding voice from the speaker.
“Chúc M?ng Nam M?i” Karin said.
“Happy New Year to you, too, dear. Please come in. Desi should be along shortly.”
A muted buzz came from the doorknob, and Karin entered the home of Betty Nguyen—a home she had not been in since last year at this same time.
The smell of fresh apricot and peach blossoms filled the air and Karin inhaled deeply. She looked around and smiled at the myriad vases containing the blossom branches, as she recalled how Mistress Betty Nguyen always took great pride in her Tet holiday preparations. There was even a small fire going in the potbelly stove to take the chill out of the winter air.
From around the corner came a small and wiry Vietnamese woman—Betty Nguyen—she was dressed only in a loosely-tied red silk robe that did little to hide the hard physique underneath.
“Overdressed as usual, I see,” she said, giving Karin a good looking over from head to toe.
“Would it please you if I were to undress, Mistress?”
“Oh, Karin.” Betty Nguyen smiled and held her arms wide. “Anything you choose to do pleases me. You know that, right?”
“Yes, Mistress.” Karin fell into her former mistress’s warm embrace.
After some time, Betty Nguyen placed her hands on Karin’s shoulders, held the woman at arm’s length and smirked. “I could always stoke up the fire if you prefer to go bare.”
Karin, who had only moments ago taken great care to ensure her clothes were presentable, wasted no time stripping them off and tossing the individual garments over a nearby armchair.
“Still the same sense of adventure.” Betty hugged Karin’s naked body tightly to her, as the two women fell together once again. They stood embracing for a long while, until the soft melodic chime of the doorbell interrupted their reverie.
“I’ll stoke up the fire,” Betty said. “You go see who’s at the door.”
Karin’s face twisted into a brief frown. “Like this?” She swept her hands from her shoulders to her hips to bring attention to her nakedness.
“I’m sure it’s Desi.” Betty grinned, almost impishly.
“Where’s the monitor for your doorbell camera?”
“On my phone.”
“Can you check?”
“I’m sure it’s Desi.”
Karin frowned and grumbled on her way to the door, but as she got closer, she felt her mouth slipping into a small grin. It was little moments like these that she missed about her mistress.
Hiding her body behind the bulk of the door, Karin opened it slowly and craned her neck to peer around the edge. She was staring into the tight-lipped face of Desi.
“You gonna let me in, Karin? It’s freezing out here.” Desi’s idea of outerwear seemed to consist of only a long camel-colored cable knit sweater with black leggings and boots. She hugged herself against the cold.
Karin opened the door further and Desi came tumbling in.
“Already dressed for fun, I see.” Desi trailed her index finger over Karin’s nude body, starting from her collarbone and stopping just above her left nipple that was standing straight from the cold. “Nice nipple rings, baby.”
“You designed them.”
Desi grinned. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”
Betty strolled over and took Desi by the hands. “How is the jewelry business these days, dear?”
“Wonderful, Mistress. Oh, I almost forgot. Chúc M?ng… Chúc M?ng…”
“Chúc M?ng Nam M?i,” Karin and Betty said in unison. “Happy New Year, Desi.”
The Escort Ataşehir three women embraced for a long while.
Karin and Desi made their way into the kitchen, with their mistress out front. Desi’s long sweater and leggings lay over the armchair that also held Karin’s discarded clothing, and only Betty Nguyen remained dressed, if a silk robe open to the navel could be classified as dressed. Betty reached around behind the kitchen door and plucked two full-length aprons from behind.
“Don’t trust us to stay clean?” Desi said.
“After last year’s rice noodle war?” Betty raised an eyebrow. “No. I do not.”
Desi chuckled and slipped the apron over her head. Karin did the same.
“Would you mind if I interview you while we’re preparing lunch?” Karin said.
“Not at all, dear.” Betty patted Karin’s hand on her way over to the refrigerator. “How is your writing coming?”
“It’s okay.” Karin grumbled just a bit. “It’s tough coming up with something to top my last book. Really frustrating sometimes, but I’m trying to stay positive. I figured this little personal project would help me relax and regain my focus.”
“Mì Qu?ng!” Desi gasped, as Betty began arranging the ingredients on the large butcher block table that dominated the center of the small farmhouse kitchen.
“Mì Qu?ng!” Karin teased. “You say that every year.”
“‘Cause it’s so good. And nobody makes it like Betty does.”
Betty Nguyen pushed a pile of vegetables in Desi’s direction. “Wash these up, please, dear. And do you remember the way to cut them?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Desi said.
Karin pulled out her phone and brought up the audio recording app. “Are you ready?”
Betty nodded, and Karin began the recording.
“Can you start from the beginning? Tell me how you came to live in America?”
Betty Nguyen’s brow knit together, and the corners of her mouth turned down for a moment. “Could we start with something else, please?”
“Sure.” Karin fumbled with her phone, nearly dropping it as she set it on the butcher block between them. “What about Sally? Would you like to start there?”
“Ooh, Sally.” Desi announced over the sound of running water at the sink. “I love to hear about her.”
“Yes,” Betty said, as a smile crossed her lips. “We can start with Sally.”
“Mom,” I called out. “I’m going over to Sally’s house for a while. I’ve got your dinner packed. It’s in the fridge on the left side. And I set the alarm so you won’t miss your bus.”
“Mom?” I peered into the tiny living room where my mother was balled up on the couch. “Mom!”
She peered up with sleepy eyes. “What was that?”
“I made your dinner. It’s in the fridge. The alarm is set, and I’m going to Sally’s.”
“Don’t hit the snooze.”
I ran out the door and sprinted all the way up the hill to Sally’s house.
Sally Morning Sparrow was my first love, though I was too dumb to realize it until much later—and by then it was too late—but Sally and I were the best of friends growing up, all the way through high school. And it was almost like I was part of her family.
Her name wasn’t actually Sally Morning Sparrow, I don’t think. I’m pretty sure that was just her dad’s pet name for her. He often claimed that he was the last surviving full-blood member of the Tillamook tribe, but Sally said he’s actually Klamath, and only one-quarter at that. Still, she smiled every time he used her full name, so it kind of stuck.
“Heard you got called to the principal’s office,” Sally said with a grin.
“Beat the hell out of Billy Smith again, didn’t you?”
“He deserved it.”
“You be careful, young lady,” Sally’s dad said. “Justice for those like us is very different than justice for the white man.”
He was always dispensing wisdom like that, Sally’s dad, and most of the time I felt like a daughter to him, even though he usually called me young lady and hadn’t come up with a cool, tribal-sounding name for me yet. Still, I think he was the only man I ever really trusted.
But enough about Sally’s dad. You wanted to hear about Sally.
Sally, as I mentioned, was my first love. But when you’re a kid in grade school, love can be a very confusing thing. I mentioned it to my mom once, on one of her better days, and she just dismissed it, like ‘you’re too young’, and ‘you’re just good friends.’
I don’t really blame her though. Back then—well it isn’t like it is now—back then it was something to hide, something to be ashamed of. So I suppose that’s why I kept it bottled up, and instead I expressed myself by beating the hell out of little punks like Billy Smith.
But it wasn’t like I just punched boys because I enjoyed it. As I told Sally, he deserved it. They all deserved it. I didn’t punch the nice boys, and never the girls, even the ones who were vindictive and gossipy. I only punched the little creeps who thought it was Ümraniye escort fun to push other people around—and particularly when those other people were smaller and unable to defend themselves. And as I said, I had a soft spot for the girls.
So I spent a good deal of time in the principal’s office. At first, I tried to explain my actions, that I was only defending someone else, but as Sally’s dad said, justice is different when you have skin the color of mine. After a while I just sort of gave up explaining.
I also moved the venue for my beat downs off of school property, so in the end, everyone was happy. Except for Billy Smith. And it would have been fine too if the coach hadn’t lied and said he saw it happen on the football field.
I thought of myself like the Thunderbird. Have I told you the story of Thunderbird and Whale? I’m sure I have, lots of times, just like Sally’s dad would retell it to me whenever I got in trouble for beating the hell out of some boy.
I think in his own, unique way Sally’s dad was trying to tell me that he approved of my actions, even though it got me sent to the principal’s office.
“Have I ever told you the story of Thunderbird and Whale?” he would say.
Sally was usually rolling her eyes by this point, because he had told it so many times, but I would just shake my head and say, “No, I don’t think so.”
“The story of Thunderbird and Whale comes from the Quileute people, a tribe not that distant from my own,” he started.
Sally, of course, was still rolling her eyes at this point, because she said her dad’s tribal affiliation changed like the tides and the winds, and he really wasn’t sure who was in his ancestral tree, but it was someone important, he was sure of that.
I, on the other hand, listened with rapt fascination. Even though I had heard the story probably twenty times before, it still held my interest.
“The Quileute people were whale hunters,” he started. “Now, I know that these days it is considered cruel to hunt whales, but those were the ways of the time. Can you girls imagine being armed only with a single hand-thrown harpoon, and coming face to face with the most massive creature you’ve ever seen? A creature that, with a flick of its mighty tail, could send you and your little canoe to the depths?
“And the Quileute people showed great respect for each whale they brought home. Not only did they survive the winters off of the meat, but they used the bones for their tools, the blubber was rendered to supply oil. Nothing was wasted.
“But there was one whale in particular that seemed intent on destroying the tribe. Simply known as ‘Whale’, he would swim in to shore chasing the other whales away, or sometimes killing the other whales, even though he himself would never consume the meat. And with the whale population dwindling, the Quileute people were starving.”
I had heard the story so many times, but yet I still hung on every word. Even Sally, with all of her eye-rolling and aloofness, was usually entranced by this point.
“Then one day, the mighty Thunderbird appeared in the sky above the land inhabited by the Quileute people. A benevolent being of great power, the Thunderbird warned Whale not to interfere with the people under his protection. But Whale did not listen, and in his arrogance, continued to deprive the tribe of their livelihood, leaving them starving and miserable.
“Thunderbird saw what was happening below and it caused him great pain. So he swooped down from the sky above, diving toward the ocean with a speed so fast that it caused the very air to ripple around him. Thunderbird warned whale to never harass the people of the tribe again. And when Whale refused, Thunderbird fell upon him, and clutching Whale in his powerful talons, lifted him high into the air…
“And dropped him.
“The resulting tsunami was felt on both sides of the Pacific, and Whale never bothered the Quileute people again.”
I blinked my eyes. When Sally’s dad told one of his stories, it was like I was in a trance, and now that it was over, I was still shaking off the effects.
Sally nudged me. “You think you’re the Thunderbird, don’t you,” she whispered. “Billy Smith is Whale.”
“Maybe.” I smiled.
“Are you staying for dinner, young lady?” Sally’s dad asked.
I looked at Sally. She nodded her head, so I did too.
“Desi, dear,” said Betty, tapping the back of Desi’s hand. “Please stop sampling the noodles and keep them in the bowl until we’re ready. It won’t be much longer.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Desi hung her head like a pouting child, but under the hair hanging in her face I could see a grin.
“Karin, would you give the broth another stir, please?” Betty said. “Then we can start assembling the bowls. Provided there are any noodles left.” She looked directly at Desi as she said this.
Karin and Desi had been visiting their former mistress’s home for many years of Tet holidays and had long ago mastered the assembly Bostancı escort bayan of the Mì Qu?ng bowls in preparation for the broth. They had had even mastered the technique of thinly slicing long slabs of mushroom caps to use in place of meat, putting a vegetarian twist on the traditional dish.
“Ready for the broth, Mistress.”
As it was every year, the final ladling of broth was done by Betty Nguyen. Originally, she had said it was so her girls would not risk burning their lovely bare bodies. But even now, with Karin and Desi clad in their aprons, Betty still ladled the broth. It was a tradition.
Rather than moving into the dining room, the three women pulled stools up around the great butcher block table, two of them in aprons, and one in a silk robe, for eating in the cozy kitchen had become a tradition as well. ‘Easier to get seconds,’ Desi had always said, but in truth it was just the way it had started so many years ago and there was no real desire from anyone to change things.
Betty Nguyen fetched a kettle from the stove and poured the hot water into each one of three antique tea cups. The water from the cups was then poured into the teapot. This was where the tea leaves steeped, and after a time the finished tea was poured into a tall, central cup she referred to as the soldier cup. From there it was finally redistributed back to the smaller, individual cups.
“Thuong nhau múc bát chè xanh. Làm tô mì Qu?ng anh xoi cho cùng,” Betty said as she poured the tea.
“To love is to fill a cup with green tea and enjoy together with a bowl of Mì Qu?ng in each other’s company,” Desi and Karin translated.
“I’m so happy to see you girls, again,” Betty said. There was a small tear forming in the corner of her right eye as she said this, and she turned away for a moment to discretely wipe it away.
“It’s been too long, Mistress,” Desi said, for once being serious.
“Too long,” said Karin.
And for a time, the three women seemed to be doing exactly what was described in the traditional Vietnamese couplet—enjoying green tea and Mì Qu?ng in the loving comfort of each other’s company.
“Would anyone like seconds?” Betty asked.
Both Karin and Desi nodded enthusiastically.
“Tell us more about Sally,” Desi said, while the bowls were being prepared again.
“Ah yes, Sally.”
“May I record, Mistress?”
“Of course, dear.” Betty Nguyen waved her hand in a dismissive gesture and smiled. “Though, you’ve probably heard the story twenty times by now, I’d think you’d have it memorized.”
Karin tapped the record/pause button on her phone, and then turned to inhaling the fragrant steam rising from the hearty soup that was set in front of her.
“Sally and I were best friends,” Betty said. “And, unfortunately, as I mentioned, that’s all we ever were. All the way through high school. I never knew how to tell her the way I felt about her. And she never said anything, so I figured that was all we’d ever be.
“I still thought about her. I wanted her to be more, but…” She sighed.
“I am Thunderbird,” I told myself as I marched toward the teenage boy beside the bleachers, standing with his back to me. “I am Thunderbird.”
The poor girl shrinking away from him was crying, so I assumed they were not having a friendly chat, or even a lover’s quarrel. This looked like something else—something more sinister.
“Leave her alone!” I shouted as I closed the distance.
He turned toward me, looked me up and down, and spat on the ground. “Or what?”
I balled my hands into fists. “Or I’ll make you sorry you didn’t.”
The girl was frozen. I could see her eyes darting back and forth, as if she didn’t know if she should believe that I could make good on my threat, or if she should just take her chances and try to make a run for it while I got my ass kicked.
“You and who else, wetback?”
“Jesus, you really are dumb.” I stood toe to toe with the mouth breather, looking up into his eyes, not flinching once. “You can’t even get your racial slurs right, can you? Now, get lost before I pop you one.”
I watched him hesitating, sizing me up. I think there were probably two thoughts going through his mind. One, is this a boy or a girl, because honestly I looked and dressed a little on the androgynous side during my teenage years. And two, if this is a girl, is it okay to hit her?
I used his moment of indecision to lay a gentle hand on the girl’s forearm and encourage her to move out of the way. That’s when he finally made up his mind. He took a swing at me.
I don’t know what he was thinking, or who he was used to fighting, if anyone, because he telegraphed his movement from a mile away and I easily stepped outside of his reach. While he was trying to come up with a plan B, I stepped in with three quick jabs to the stomach. And after he doubled over, I grabbed his head and slammed it into my knee.
I heard something crunch, and there was a lot of blood. I was pretty hopped up on adrenaline at that point. I got myself into a fighting stance, dancing around him, and tried to make myself look more formidable than what he wanted to deal with at the moment. But, I was ready to lay him out if he made a move, principal’s office be damned.
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