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The best thing about the twelve-hour flight from Heathrow into Hong Kong was being able to pass the crowded immigration area and head straight for International Departures and the Cathay Pacific flight to Bangkok.
There was going to a wait of a couple of hours so I turned into the first bar I saw, dumped my shoulder bag and climbed onto a stool.
The barman wiped the surface in front of me: “Yes, miss?”
“Vodka, tonic, ice, please. Not too much ice.”
“Vodka, tonic,” he nodded.
I retrieved a duty-free pack of Marlborough from my bag and lit one, hauling the smoke down into my neglected lungs. I took a quick look at my make-up. The few hours’ sleep I’d had on Richard Branson’s Virgin A-340 made things a little easier but, basically, I felt like shit. However, things could only get better from now on.
As the drink arrived, I switched on my GSM cell-phone and placed it next to the glass. After shuffling the counterfoils I slipped them back into my ticket folder and slipped it back into the bag with my passport.
I slipped the cold vodka and glanced around the bar. The place was half-full; mostly businessmen, some couples who were dressed like tourists. Some of the men tried to make eye contact. I turned back and saw myself in the mirror behind the coloured bottles. My new super-short hair-cut was still looking good, as was the touch-up to my lipstick. I straightened the collar of the blue waistcoat I was wearing over a white t-shirt and wriggled my bum on the bar-stool to ease up the ultra-sensible tan light-weight Rohan slacks.
The cell-phone rang and I almost dropped it in my eagerness to thumb the green button.
Then I heard her sweet voice: “Isabel?”
“Yes. You are early.”
“Mmm. Where are you?” I looked at the coaster under the glass and gave her the name of the bar. “OK. I’ll be with you soon.” Before I could say any more, she was gone.
The terminal was huge. She would take ages to get here. But when I looked into the mirror again there she was, smiling, just behind me. I turned and reached for her, kissing her cheek. I wanted more… but not here.
Ming climbed up onto the stool next to me, flicked her waist-length jet-black hair to one side and looked at me.
“How was the flight?” we both asked at the same time, and laughed.
“Boring,” I said.
“Crowded!” she said.
The first-class ticket I’d arranged for her was for a Dragonair flight from Beijing; they were always crowded. “Any visa problems?” I asked. Travelling is relatively easy if you are British. She was Chinese but I’d made things easier by giving her a card for my Amex Platinum account. Now she couldn’t be accused of being an economic migrant. Having a well-connected family in Beijing also helped. So did being a new employee of my commercial photography company.
Ming was thirty years old but her sweet face and her five-foot, teenage figure made her look much younger. I was five-eleven and towered over her – something she always found hilariously funny for some reason.
The barman arrived and started wiping again. I ordered another vodka, Ming asked for a Coke. We chatted. I wanted to touch her. I was becoming aroused just being near her. I even considered dragging her off to the nearest Ladies’ toilets.
Eventually, I just looked at her and told her I’d missed her. She smiled again as she leaned towards me and whispered: “Want me to lick your pussy, darling?” The minx!
I looked at my watch and told her we should go.
“You checked in OK?” I asked as we walked towards the gate.
“Did you get the seat next to me?”
“Yes, Miss! Not too many in First Class.”
“OK.” That was another trick: Calling me “Miss” in public.
The food on the flight was excellent. Ming tried the wine and it had the usual effect on her. Finally, when the trays had been cleared away, I took her hand and lead her to the toilet. Two pretty Filipina flight attendants were chatting near the door. They smiled.
“Can I help you, Ms Cavafy?” asked one of them.
I thought for a moment, smiled back, and whispered in her ear: “If you can, I’ll press the ‘Call’ button.” She covered her mouth as she giggled. Her colleague looked concerned. I gave her a smile too and said: “Don’t worry, we promise not to smoke!” As they watched, I held the door open and stroked Ming’s bum as she passed me. I bolted the door and turned to take Ming in my arms. We kissed passionately, her tongue probing eagerly between my lips. As her hands moved to fondle my breasts through my silk t-shirt, reached under her short skirt and tugged at her panties. She broke breathlessly from the kiss and gasped as I explored her wet pussy. Suitably soaked, my social finger found her clitoris and started the brisk sideways stroke that was always so effective with her. From that point I didn’t stop. I rubbed and she moaned noisily. Soon, her body shook, her head went back, her mouth opened: “Isabel!”
I let her lick my fingers before opening the door. As I left the toilet, one of the flight attendants was still there. I smiled again, leaving the door slightly illegal bahis ajar so she could see Ming pulling her panties up, and returned to my seat.
Ming came back about fifteen minutes later, her face still lit up. She melted into her seat and scribbled a note on a napkin. Want to taste Filipina puss? it read. I nodded and she leaned across and kissed me slowly on the mouth. Later, when the flight attendant collected the trays – and the unfolded napkin – we curled up, giggling.
About ten hours later I woke up suddenly and, as usual, had no idea where I was for a few seconds. Then everything fell into place. The Royal Thai Hotel, a modest suite on the top floor; I am lying on my side on one of the two king-sized beds. My arms are around Ming, my nipples touching her back, my pelvis against her bum. The sheets have been pulled back and the air conditioner is blowing cool air across our naked bodies.
Now I was wide awake and my brain in gear. I had met Ming by chance at Glasgow University a few years ago. Her husband was there studying for a post-graduate degree and she had joined him. Her name – Ming – means “bright” and she certainly was. Soon bored with looking after her rather dull husband, she studied for a master’s degree in some obscure aspect of Internet technology, something to do with the way search engines read pages in oriental scripts.
I met her at a party and was instantly attracted to her; I’d never made love to a doll-like Chinese woman before. I needed an excuse to see her again and offered to help her improve her English. The ploy worked. A couple of times a week she would come around to the studio or to my apartment and I would teach her English grammar. I took my time.
The break-through came late one afternoon after a long shoot for a mail order catalogue. The models were leaving as she arrived. I gave her a magazine and told her to start translating an article. The last girl, Fiona, was busy chatting to someone on her cell-phone. Eventually, she switched the damn thing off and came over to us. I stood up.
“All finished, Iz, I’m off!” She threw her arms around me, pulling me to her and kissed me hard on the lips, her tongue probing. She eventually stopped and looked at my Chinese friend. Ming’s eyes widened, and her jaw dropped as Fiona groped my bum and brazenly rubbed her tits against mine.
“Off you go!” I said, slapping her ass in return.
After the lesson, I drove Ming back to the university. I was trying to explain how newspaper headlines worked, but she wanted to talk about something else.
“You told me you were married.” I glanced across at her as I stopped the Porsche at traffic lights.
“I was. I mean I used to be married. Ten years ago, when I was twenty-seven, I was married long enough to get divorced.” The lights turned green.
“Why you not still married?” she asked.
“The guy was a dork.”
“Oh,” she said, “English very complicated!”
I laughed, wondering if she meant the language or the people, and she fell silent. As I drew up outside the university main gate, she stayed in her seat.
“Was that the only reason you not married?” she asked, clearly nervous. I leaned across the car placing a hand on her thigh and smiled.
“I’ll tell you next time, darling.”
“Saturday at ten. I’ll pick you up here.”
As she walked away, I paused to watch her tight little bum. She glanced over her shoulder and waved cheerfully.
I felt Ming move in my arms as I began to feel a little chilled. I slipped my arm from under her neck and got up to adjust the air conditioning. On the way back I found an can of orange juice in the mini-bar. As I cracked it open I looked at her. She had rolled onto her back, one leg cocked up, revealing a lightly-shaven pussy that was so neat a cigarette-paper wouldn’t fit between the labia. In that position her small breasts had disappeared making her look completely flat-chested. Her long black hair spread across the pillow. My pussy was wet but I didn’t want to wake her – it was going to be a long, long night.
At the window I pulled back the curtain a little and was blinded for a moment by the bright afternoon sun. It was five o’clock.
The shower didn’t wake Ming, but the hair-drier did. I was standing at the wash-basin, blowing the water out of my short boyish hair-cut when she walked in through the door. She hopped onto the marble surface next to the gold-plated taps.
“How are you, sweetie?” I asked. “Have a good sleep?”
“Yes,” she smiled, “me wide awake! We go Phatpong, yes?” In the couple of years I’ve known her, I’ve taught Ming lots of things. Good English is not one of them.
“We’ll eat first. I’m hungry.”
“OK. I want eat you.”
I smiled back at her: “Later.”
She scowled and leaned back against the cold mirror. I was concentrating on fixing my face… just a little foundation and an almost-invisible layer of lip-stick. My eye caught a movement; she had a hand between her legs, rubbing her clitoris. illegal bahis siteleri It was my turn to scowl.
“You make me feel sexy,” she said, unnecessarily. She opened her thighs even more and pulled at one of her nipples with her free hand.
“The sooner you hop in the shower, the sooner we can eat, the sooner we can go to Phatpong!”
Two hours later, I was paying off the taxi driver. Ming was gawking at all the flashing neon of Bangkok’s infamous sex zone. With her short skirt, high heels and oriental face, she didn’t look too out of place. With seconds of arriving I had to liberate her from some fat-but-optimistic German. From that point on, she held my hand and stayed close.
Not much on the exterior of the clubs and massage parlours betrayed what was going on inside. But it didn’t matter. Soon, Ming pointed.
“Let’s try there!”
After the ride through Bangkok traffic, the chilled interior was welcome and we met by the insistent beat of something related to Ibiza. The place was expensively fitted out like a like a Western disco. There was a central bar with groups of stool and tables around three of the walls. Against the fourth wall was a raised dance-floor crowded with swim-suited girls; each was wearing a number on her wrist.
“Waa…” said Ming, “Tai hao le!”
“Yes,” I agreed, “Fantastic!” It was the sort of place owned by the relatives of senior cops. Heads – mostly male – swivelled as we entered and I looked around for somewhere quiet to sit. A girl in a string bikini waved us to follow her and she took us to a table beyond the far end of the bar.
“You want drink?” she asked.
“One beer, one coke,” I told her and she wriggled off, tottering a little on her high heels. Ming and I sat down. I lit a cigarette.
Ming touched my arm: “Why all the girls wear numbers?”
“So you can choose one to sit with you. Maybe have sex in the back somewhere.”
The bikini girl came back and placed our drinks on the table. I thanked her and she hovered for a while, uncertain whether we wanted her to stay. The fact that Ming was stroking my thigh might have confused her. I patted the seat next me.
“You buy me nice drink?” she asked. I nodded. Ming nudged me and pointed to a corner of the room near the stage. A young American college boy – judging by the shorts – was leaning against the wall, his arms around a firm breasted Thai girl in a high-cut swim-suit. I looked back at Ming. So? She smiled and pointed again. This time I noticed that one of the girl’s hand was behind her back, down his shorts, and stroking his cock. From their faces, he thought he was in heaven, she thought she was in hell.
Bikini girl came back with a brightly-coloured (and no doubt alcohol-fee) drink and sat beside me. And there we sat, sipping our drinks and taking in the scenery. Eventually, Ming said: “No show?”
I turned to bikini girl: “No show?”
She shook her head: “No show.”
Ming said: “We go, huh?”
I paid up, leaving a big tip for our hostess and we walked further up the street. This time I chose. I pulled Ming through the unassuming doorway and up the dingy stairs. Up the dingy stairs was the way down-market.
Except for the lights over a long stage surrounded by the bar, this place was dark. The girls wore mostly shorts or skirts and t-shirts or bikini tops. They didn’t wear numbers. The three girls on stage were naked. A few male customers sat in the booths around the walls, each with a girl or two.
Someone touched my arm. She was an older, strikingly beautiful woman with finely-drawn cheek-bones and neatly-cut shoulder-length hair. I smiled and she led the Ming and I to one of the free booths. As we sat, Ming asked if there was a show. She nodded. That was a relief; I’d told Ming about the Phatpong shows and she was determined to see one.
Our hostess was still with us. She spoke quite good English.
“Hello, my name is Mai. Do you just want to watch the show or would you like some girls to sit with you? You only have to buy them a drink each.”
“Will you sit with us?” I asked.
“Of course. And I get another girl? One who likes nice ladies?” I nodded and told her to bring us Coke and beer too.
First she came back with a sweet young girl dressed in bikini pants and a t-shirt cut off below her pert breasts.
“This is Kee.”
“Hello,” said Kee, holding her hands together between her breasts and bowing her head a little. Mai went around the table and slid onto the bench next to Ming.
As the drinks arrived, the music changed and the show started. Three skinny girls started dancing, sliding their naked bodies against each other until one eventually reached between the legs of another and started to pull a very long string of flags from her pussy. Ming thought this trick was nothing less than wonderful and started to applaud.
In the darkness, Kee took my arm and draped it over her shoulders, leading my hand to one of her small breasts. I grasped it gently before slipping my hand under the flimsy cotton. Her nipple fell naturally between my finger and thumb and grew firm canlı bahis siteleri as I rolled and tweaked it. She rested her head on my shoulder, not interested in the show, making soft mewing noises in her throat.
The girls on-stage had swapped around and one was now kneeling, her mouth firmly planted over the third one’s pussy. Eventually, her head came back. She had a string between her teeth, a string that was connected to at least a dozen ping-pong balls.
Ming seemed to be aroused by the show, but then I noticed that Mai’s hand was already under her short skirt. The Chinese girl noticed my glance and grinned.
“Mai finger pussy,” she whispered, “Heng hao! Very good!”
While we were diverted, a tent-like structure had been placed on the stage and two new girls had started to dance. They spent most of the time in a close embrace, stroking each other’s bodies through and under their long white t-shirts. Kee’s hand was stroking the inside of my thigh. Her nipple was now growing firm between my fingers. She really did like the attention of other women.
On the stage the performers now had their hands under each other’s shirt, vigorously rubbing their crotches and gasping theatrically. Suddenly one of them pulled away the sheet covering a short wooden bench. From each end a large dildo projected upwards. The second girl cocked a leg over one of them and lowered herself, guiding the rubber cock into her pussy. The two bent their knees and – with some athleticism – moved up on down on the dildos, their arms extended, fingers intertwined to keep their balance. Ming squealed with delight and clapped her hands again. I felt Kee’s hand grope towards my crotch and glanced down. Her pretty face looked up and she stuck her pink tongue out at me. I lowered my head and sucked it into my mouth until our lips met.
The performers were rising and falling with the music when one pulled her t-shirt off over her head, revealing her fine, full breasts. She then reached to the other girl and ripped her shirt open down the front, her hands grasping for her tiny tits. Their naked torsos where glistening with sweat.
Next to me, Mai had slipped under the table and was kneeling between Ming’s open legs, pushing the hem of her short skirt up around her waist. Ming lifted her hips to help Mai pull her panties off. As the beautiful Thai woman licked along the inside of her thighs, I put my arm around Ming’s neck and slipped my hand down the front of her top. If anyone could see us in the gloom, I didn’t give a damn.
My hands caressing two young breasts, I glanced back at the stage. The bench had been replaced by a rug, the two Thai girls by a fat, naked Western man who towered over a Thai girl in elaborate traditional costume. As she danced, making complex, well rehearsed movements with her hands and eyes, the man stroked his long, thick cock to erection.
“Waa!” said Ming, “she too small for him!”
As she danced, the girl started to take off her clothes, starting with her head-dress and bodice. Now naked from the waist up, she knelt in front of the man and took the head of his cock between her lips. He squeezed at the root of his now-hard penis and stroked her hair. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked hard. She stood up again and pulled at the waistband of her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. Kneeling on the rug, she stuck her bum in the air and wriggled it at the now-sweating Westerner. He got down behind her, his cock in his fist again, and shoved it into her pussy. He grunted, she squealed and sportingly pushed back to meet his powerful thrusts.
In the dim light, I could see Mai’s tongue lapping at Ming’s clitoris. Every so often, she stopped and closed her mouth over my girlfriend’s pussy. From Ming’s reaction, I knew the tongue was probing deep into her pussy.
The stage show was reaching a climax… literally. The man pulled the Thai girl back onto his lap and, holding the back of her thighs, struggled to his feet. Now standing, legs apart, he raised and lowered onto his cock, slowing turning through 360 degrees so that everyone in the bar could see the tight fit of her pussy around his thick penis. The girl’s hands were between her widespread thighs, stoking his balls and rubbing her exposed clitoris.
I heard the man mutter, “Me come!”. He lifted her off his knob and lowered her to the floor of the stage. She quickly turned and started to suck him again. He held her neck as his back arched and he groaned. I wondered if it was all faked. The girl kept sucking until he patted her shoulder. She stood up. Turned, and smiled at the audience. A trickle of semen dribbled from between her sweet lips. This show was no fake, I decided.
Ming shuddered as Mai brought her to her first orgasm. I decided it was time to go.
“Shall we take Mai and Kee back to the hotel?” I whispered to Ming. She nodded. A hundred dollars to the bar manager legitimised their departure and we piled into a taxi. We were skinny enough for all four of us to fit side-by-side in the back of the Toyota but Kee insisted on climbing onto my lap. She had pulled on a pair of shorts. No matter how I held her, it seemed impossible to keep my hands off her remarkably smooth skin. As she wriggled her cut-off t-shirt rode up, revealing her chest. Her legs extended over the laps of Ming and Mai. The driver tried to pay attention to the Bangkok’s 24/7 gridlock.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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