Stan felt a sudden urge to go out. He sprung from the bed, pulled on a pair of brown shorts, slipped into a crisp white shirt, strapped on his Cartier then splashed on a little Old Spice. Finally, after applying a little mousse, he styled his hair and was good to go. He was stepping down the street and into the oppressive Bangkok heat when a filthy-cute girl smiled as she passed him by. She was tall, thin and busty with firm thighs and long legs. She wore the highest of heels and the shortest of pink dresses. Stan smiled back then noticed more ladies hanging around and hooking on another corner. They were wearing the most revealing of outfits and strutted down the streets like they owned them. He continued on his journey and noticed the streets didn’t quite share the beauty of the girls. He had to tread carefully over crumbling concrete, side-step around copper piping sticking up from the ground and duck under thick electrical cables that hung down. He was passed by motorbike taxis and converted motorcycles with multi-coloured carriages. The drivers tried to catch his attention by slowing down and beeping their horns. He ignored them, walked on and passed several people begging. He sympathized, yet didn’t care to spare any change.
Feeling beads of sweat trickling down his back, he was considering an escape, when he was met by a short Indian tailor standing outside his store. “I have a wonderful suit for you, sir, for a good price. Please come in and take a look.” Stan needed to pee, but wouldn’t buy a suit in order to do so. He was about to walk on when his attention was diverted by a beautiful girl standing across the street. She was hopping on the spot and waving at him. He waved back, stepped onto the road, weaved his way between slow-moving cars and joined her on the other side. “Hi. My name Aey,” she smiled saucily. “I’m Stan. Why were you waving at me?” “I think you want massage. Take look?” Disappointed that he didn’t know her, a massage did seem like a good idea after a long flight. He peered between a pair of heavy gold curtains and saw several more attractive ladies standing around. They wore loose colourful uniforms that showed a little cleavage and had their hair tied back. They smiled sweetly at Stan as he stared – he was sold. Seeing an assortment of shabby shoes outside on the floor, he slipped off his designer sandals and tucked them behind a pair of red flip-flops.
“You want oil massage?” Stan stepped in and looked around. An interesting ambience was created with scented candles, running waterfalls, Oriental music and prints of temples on the walls.
“Alright,” he agreed. The sound of running water heightened his urge to use the restroom. He stepped into the toilet and found himself leaning and crouching under a sloping ceiling to pee. He returned to his masseuse and she led him upstairs to a row of cubicles. Each had a thin mattress, a soft pillow and a white hand-towel folded as an elephant. “You like shower first?” He nodded, hung his clothes on some bendy hangers, took a towel, headed for the bathroom and showered over a toilet with no seat.
Then returning to his cubicle, he lay face-down on the mattress and loosened the towel. It was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop; that was if you had a pin and you wanted to drop it. Stan then heard some small steps creeping towards the door. The sliding doors slid open; Aey crept in, knelt before him, slipped off the towel and placed it to the side. He smelt her cheap, tangy perfume. He wouldn’t have bought that brand for his wife, but he liked it on Aey. Stan was naked and suddenly aware of the air conditioning cooling his buttocks. Aey placed her cold fingertips on his legs, glided them up to his thighs then continued up his back. She screwed open a jar of oil. It smelt of lavender. She poured plenty on his body then rubbed her small, firm hands up and down his legs, back and buttocks, spreading scented oil. Her nails dug in, her palms pressed down and her fingertips teased. Stan moaned and rocked his body gently as she continued to caress him.
About thirty minutes later she asked him to turn over. She didn’t offer him the towel. He didn’t want it, didn’t need it. He turned over slowly, held in his stomach and searched her eyes for any sign of shame. She wasn’t shy, didn’t seem to care. She sat up and smiled at the excitement he was showing her – mission accomplished. As he lay there naked, aroused and waiting for what or who would come next, guilt took a grip. He thought of his wife back in England and wondered how he’d allowed himself to be in this predicament. His guilt was soon dispelled when she continued massaging him, caressing him, nudging his member as he lay there. It pointed to the moon. He moaned then reached up to brush against her small, soft, cup-cake breasts. She smiled, pulled up her shirt and bra and allowed him to fondle her. He squeezed her young, ripe nipples gently as she moaned. Abandoning any pretence that she was massaging his abdomen, she gave full attention to his penis, utilising firm, sensual strokes. He enjoyed the motions as she brought him closer to climax with every stroke. His body suddenly stiffened and his face strained as he came – almost in her face. She continued stroking him with an even firmer grip and faster pace until he raised his right hand. She stopped and smiled like the cat that’d caught the cream. Wiping her wet hands on his waist she smiled and demanded, “Don’t move till I get back.” Stan nodded. She stood up and stepped out.
He lay there for a while catching his breath then reaching for the towel he pulled it over his loins and wiped himself. She returned a few minutes later with a steaming, wet hand-towel, tutted that he’d taken the main towel, removed it and tossed it to the side. He lay there naked, suddenly feeling exposed. She dropped the hand towel onto his crotch. Stan twisted his body like a lizard then realising it wasn’t that hot, he laughed. She soaked up his sperm like a horny mistress. She was rough. Stan was aroused. She finished. “How you feel?” “Relaxed.” “You take shower then come down for tea.” “Thank you.” He watched her leave, had a shower then made his way downstairs. He drank a cup of warm tea, paid, left a decent tip, took a card and walked out.
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