The man buying me a drink was a banker and ex-public schoolboy from London. Eloquent, well educated and a gentleman to boot, he was the picture of English reserve and dignity, even in his increasing state of intoxication.
“So, you’re a banker…”
“Uhh.” He laughed, dryly.
He beat me to the question of why I was in Bangkok, and so I replied honestly that it was a mixture of business and pleasure that bought me here. As I drank my coke beside him, he got through bottle after bottle of Chang, regaling me with some very interesting stories while Ben squirmed and gasped under the sub who was sitting on his back. The Mistress changed her whip to a paddle. It sounded as though Ben might have been trying to say something, perhaps the safe-word, but it was very hard to make it out between the gasps and the groans.
“One thing I love about it here… the Thai’s attitude to sex and sexuality is very fluid,” the Englishman mused, signaling another round from the bartender, “So far removed from Aquinas. You know Aquinas? His theory of sex and guilt?”
Ah yes. I remembered Aquinas from high school. The perfect induction to some of the best classroom sleeping sessions I’d ever experienced. I’d failed that class – I despised philosophy. Crusty old musings from crusty old men about the why’s of life, held no interest for someone like me, an experiential learner whose always learned best by doing.
“Anti… antidises… establish….ah! Tarianism!”
“You have to say the whole thing, Britney, or I wont believe you mean it! How’s the speed? Want a little more?”
Ben shook his head, mouthing no. I caught the Mistresses’ eye and signalled for her to slow the beating down a little. She nodded. Englishman looked curiously at me.
“Antidissastablishmentarism? That’s your safe-word? Little cruel, don’t you think?”
“Britney likes a challenge. Don’t you, Britney?”
“Britney” was too occupied to answer. Spread eagled on a low table now, Mistress had dropped the whip and was now being all kinds of creative with her big toe on the inside of his thigh. Ben shuddered, the sub lapping at his nipple.
For all of his attempts to protest, Ben looked like he was doing ok. More than OK. Though his mouth looked dry and I’d need to apply more gloss later. I took another sip of coke and turned back to the Englishman.
“So why are you here?”
“Oh you know, the usual reason. Easter holidays. I like the culture here. I also like a beautiful woman… bit of ‘slap and tickle’, as they say…”
Did anyone say that anymore? I laughed, watching the Mistress guide Ben down to the floor on his hands and knees, walking him around like a peculiar looking dog, wig teetering on top of his sweaty locks, panting.
We got to talking about BDSM and how it was a creative field all in itself. Far from being about sex, it was about the anticipation. Words and situations that built tension and played with ones comfort zone. Like me, he wasn’t into scat or pee play, blood, or knives: we disagreed on mindfucks. He thought they were unethical and refused to contemplate them whereas I maintained an open mind, depending on the situation. I asked him if he was a Dom at home. He looked aghast.
“I don’t really know you, so…”
I found his embarrassment hilarious given the situation. There we were, two strangers in a club full of people in various states of undress, being whipped, bound and teased by others, with all kinds of arousing symbols, textures and sounds around us and now he got bashful. Fair enough I suppose. I understood the English reserve, having lived in England for a few years before coming back to North America. Stiff upper lip and all that. But, like philosophy and the cult-like interest in soccer, I’d never resonated with reserve. I’ve always been an open person, seeking other open people – or at least people with cracks that I can pry open with the right questions and gestures. Perhaps it was the silent treatment I received as a child when I got into trouble, but silence and evasiveness has always bothered me. I felt suddenly restless next to my new friend. Time to be a brash North American.
“Well, I’m a Mistress.”
“That girl over there… she’s mine…”
Englishman raised his eyebrow, unconvinced.
“… A work in progress, yes. But look, I’m going to be direct. She wants cock. Tonight if possible. I don’t suppose you know anyone.”
I’d just horrified my new friend.
I continued, unperturbed.
“She’s taken a strap-on from me already. I have to tell you she has brilliant oral skills – I suppose its not surprising. She studied at Oxford.”
Englishman sank back into his seat, looking at Ben,, looking back to me and signaling another round.
“Oxford? What year?”
“I don’t know. It’s still a good University yes?”
“One of the best. I studied there myself.”
“Anyway. She did so well, but I don’t have the real thing. I’m looking to take her to the next level. I think she’s ready.”
“You know you can’t do that here, right?”
“I’m not an idiot.”
Englishman dabbed some sweat from his brow and pointed over to the corner of the club. In front of the wine cellar, sitting on the couch, was a rather plump man in his fifties watching Ben with interest as he crawled around on his hands and knees a few yards in front of him.
“You could try talking to Michael. He’s from the States. One of your countrymen, I think?”
“I’m from Canada.”
“Whatever. Hmm. Anyway, he’s into that sort of thing. Frequents the ladyboys and is a lot more… eclectic in his tastes.”
“Ugh… I’m not sure though. How long have you been working with this sub?”
I counted on my fingers.
“A little under two weeks. She’s a fast learner.”
Englishman sighed, taking another gulp of Chang.
“I just… look, he’s not the most gentle of creatures, put it that way. I met him in London when he came to do some investing. He comes to Bangkok quite frequently. I’ve heard his stories. You put your sub in his hands… I mean, he’s not going to go easy on her… Maybe you want to look around a bit more?”
I placed my coke back on the bar, grinning.
“Maybe he’s exactly what she needs. Thank you… uh…”
“Douglas. It’s Douglas. But don’t thank me. And really, I wouldn’t suggest…”
“Goodnight, Douglas… Britney!”
I clapped my hands together. Ben would be alright. I wouldn’t be leaving her alone with this big, bad American. If all went to plan, I’d be right there, holding his hand, or hair, or ass. At least for a while, before I pulled out my phone to record it all.
Ben crawled on his hands and knees towards me, pink gloss smeared up the sides of his cheeks, like a more feminine Joker. I leant down and straightened his wig, ordering some shots from the bar and handing them to him.
“Good job, Britney. Here, have a drink. You’ve earned it. Good.” When Ben had downed the last of the shots, I took him by the ring on his collar and pulled up, “Come with me, under the stage. I have something I want to talk with you about.”
Ben obediently followed where he was directed. I looked back over my shoulder to see Englishman shaking his head at me. Prude.
Under the stage, I guided Ben to lay down in my lap, head against my thighs. I’d relieved him of the wig for a moment, wiping his sweaty hair with my hand and making him lick his sweat from my fingers. With a swift tug on the fabric of my skirt, I hitched it up, placing it over his head like a tent. Stroking his hair through the fabric, I felt his ragged breath against the inside of my thigh. Little pervert breathing in the smell of my sex and luxuriating in my warmth of my skin against his. There amongst the circular cushions we were perfectly alone. The music was muffled here. Every so often, a pair of legs would stride past the red gauze curtains separating this area from the club, pausing for a few seconds before moving on. I lay against the mirrored wall, appreciating the cool surface against my back, listening to the sounds Ben made as his arousal grew, nuzzling his face against me.
“I have to say,” I said, widening my thighs a little, his nose finding the new space, “I’m very impressed with you tonight. You’ve shown me you can be strong, can withstand both pain and public humiliation. You’ve followed my directions to the letter and given your best. I am truly honored to have such a diligent student…”
I ran my hand down Ben’s back – up and down, up and down. The warmth of his breath between my thighs, more arousing than I could begin to describe.
“Such a pleasing pupil… I can see why Oxford adored you…”
Ben’s hand moved slowly up the side of my leg. I pulled back the fabric, un-tenting him. His eyes looked hungrily up at mine. I pushed my crotch hard against his chin. Jingle.
“Please… Mistress… can I pleasure you?”
I smiled indulgently, pulling him up to his knees by a few tugs to his collar.
“Believe it or not, that’s not something we can do here. There are strict rules in these clubs against that sort of thing. But if you really want to please me, there is something you can do…”
“Mmm? Tell me…!”
“There’s a man over there. American. His name’s Michael.”
Ben’s eager look suddenly dropped.
“You did such a good job with the strap on the other day, it got me thinking. What I’d really like is to see you work the real thing. See him over there? What I want you to do, is to crawl up to that guy – put your wig back on first.”
I placed the wig back on Britney’s head.
“Now, crawl up to him and ask him if you can suck his cock.”
Ben looked utterly disgusted. But as I know from my own introduction to this world, disgust and desire are neighbors separated by the thinnest of fences. With a gentle nudge in the right direction, the right words, touches or sensations – a no can quickly become a yes.
“Oh don’t pretend you don’t want it. You take a good cock – I’ve seen it. Honestly, it turned me on to watch you. But my hands were busy the last time. I’d really like it if they were free the next time…”
I took Ben’s hand, taking his index and middle finger and pushing them in and out of my mouth. He growled softly as I did so. I released them with a pop.
“… If you see what I mean.”
Ben looked at me intently, placing his wet hand on my thigh, digging his fingertips into the flesh.
“I thought you’d said I’d be your own, Katia. That’s what I agreed to. But not… asking a stranger… something like that… I won’t do it. You can’t make me.”
I grinned. Taking his head in my hands and gazing into his eyes, I changed the position of my legs to anchor his waist tight between my knees.
“You’re right. I can’t make you. But as for you being mine, that means you’re mine to use as I see fit and mine to give away as it pleases me. Now, Britney, I want to see you crawl over and beg that American for his cock. I want you to lick his shoe first, make love to the leather with your lips and tongue – give him a bit of a show. Make him want to use you. Then I want you ask – leave him in no doubt of what a cum hungry little cocksucker you are. Looking like you do, I very much doubt he’ll refuse.”
Ben looked at me, the reluctance in his eyes fading to acceptance.
“But I don’t know him. What if he’s got a disease or something?”
“Come on. You really think I’d let you catch an STI? I’ve got condoms in my bag. Everything’s safe. Well…” I said, looking over to the large American, sipping his whisky as he watched the Dutchman, now being whipped by one of the slender Mistresses, “No lasting marks anyway.”
I stroked Ben’s face: he nuzzled against my hand like a dog, sweat-stained and anxious to please. Quite endearing.
“How about instead of focusing on the fear, you focus on the desire instead? You want to please me, don’t you?”
“And what you really want, underneath it all, beyond your desire to please me, you want to find out what it’s like to take a real cock in your mouth, like the one in Michael’s pants over there. Undoing his fly with your eager hands, unleashing the scent of him, intermingled with stale piss and sweat from his day. Feeling the humiliation of him holding your head as he pulls down his dirty cotton underwear for you, slapping your face with his rapidly hardening cock, as you beg him to use you, to thrust into your mouth and cum into it, all over that pretty little face of yours. Leaving that pointless speaking hole of yours glistening with his cum – like a donut glazed in filth.”
Ben was shaking his head, mouthing ‘no’, but as I ran my toe up his thighs, towards that shiny, capillary striated sack between his legs, his breathing quickened and he turned to look at Michael, standing against the wall. Ben traced his eyes down the corpulent man’s body, eyes resting on his crotch, gulping – as his imagination began to work.
“You’re not doing this for me, are you, Britney? Really this is all for you. Your pleasure. I am giving you permission to have this pleasure with this stranger, something you never would have dared do before. Really, you should be thanking me.”
Ben licked his lips. I pushed him down onto his hands and knees again.
“Now… crawl… beg him. As Britney. Say exactly how much you want it. Be polite. Demean yourself if you need to. I’ll be watching.”
Ben really did an incredible job, begging the American, who was at this point a little hammered, for his cock. I stood close by, listening for the approval, then came over an introduced myself. The deal was that the American could use Britney, but only if I was allowed to watch too. The idea seemed to turn him on a little. As BARBAR was off-limits for this sort of thing, the American proposed a tuk tuk down to the canal, to have Britney suck him off in one of the dark alleyways near the railway track – practically deserted at this time of night.
We took the tuk tuk, the heat of day fading to something far more tolerable. The air in the alleyway was cool and damp, smelling vaguely like sewage from the polluted waterway nearby. I nodded to the American as Ben stood there in front of him, looking disheveled and a little afraid.
“On your knees.”
Michael pushed Ben down onto the dirty ground below the overpass. Somewhere in the distance a train clacked down the tracks. A gecko chirped from the bushes nearby. The American was unbuttoning his fly, cursing as his fat fingers fumbled with the fastenings.
“Beg me for it… you little slut. I wanna hear you beg.”
Ben did as asked. I was impressed and a little aroused. Watching as Michael pulled out his cock and taunted Ben with it. Judging by the guy’s appearance, his hygiene didn’t look the best. Ben didn’t flinch however, even as the American took his head and buried it in his crotch against his sweaty belly, taunting him in between slaps.
I reached into my purse for my phone, to capture the next few minutes on video. Ben approached the task with surprising gusto, drunkenly stumbling a little on his knees as the shots kicked in. The American thrust into his mouth with gusto as Ben hungrily worked him, not noticing the phone I was holding up, recording every squalid moment.