Stan Meets Sung

Stan Meets Sung

Stan Meets Sung

Soi-Cowboy-Bangkok-rainy-season

Stan tucked away Helmut’s card, followed him out of the bar and said goodbye. He continued his stroll down Cowboy, reached the end, then turned onto another road. It had several scruffy taxi drivers standing around, waiting for their prey.
“Taxi sah?” A cabbie asked with dry lips. Stan waved a dismissive wave – he wasn’t done yet. He continued on and was walking down a quieter road when he was accosted by three girls sitting outside the small entrance to a bar.

“You want drink, handsome man?” a tall, feminine lady offered. “You look like Tom Cruise.”
“I’m heading home,” Stan replied.
“I go with you?” She asked with hopeful eyes. She was sexy in a sleazy way with thick black hair and long legs. Her make-up was heavy and her thick eyelashes fluttered sensually at Stan. His eyes fixated on her black high-heeled boots that stretched half way up her legs. “One for the road?” she smiled.

He nodded and followed her into a small, dimly-lit room where several black-leather barstools were lined up against the bar. It smelt of stale spunk. He ordered a whisky soda as she slid in next to him and started rubbing his leg. “You buy drink for me?” she asked. Stan nodded to the bar-maid. A whisky Cola arrived and Stan and ‘Black Boots’ clinked glasses. “What your name?”

“Nigel,” Stan lied again. She pressed her hand firmly against his crotch and began to caress him. He opened his legs a little and glanced down to see she now had a firm grip on his member, through his shorts. He contentedly sipped his whisky while she slowly opened the buttons to his shorts, snaked her hand in and found her way to the fly in his boxers. Stan sat back, allowing her to search; he wasn’t shy, he was too excited and too drunk to care. She was quick to find his member and it was already giving her a standing ovation. She pulled it out right there in the bar and patted it like a pet. Stan blushed, but didn’t stop her and watched as she took his balls in her hands and squeezed them.

There was nobody else, save a chubby, bar-maid wearing a denim skirt over a pair of pink stockings. She had placed some tissues and a small bottle of Johnson’s baby oil on the bar counter. As Stan enjoyed another first-time experience in the ‘Land of Smiles,’ ‘Black Boots’ took a little oil on her hand, applied it to Stan’s manhood and started to stroke him. He was shocked. The barmaid didn’t look, didn’t care and continued drying glasses.

Stan sat back with one eye on ‘Black Boots’ hand and the other on the door. He was reaching the point of no-return, when she slowed down then stopped. “You want more?”
“Okay.”
“Let’s go upstairs.”
“What’s upstairs?”
“Have private room.”

Guilt had lost out to lust, again. Stan finished his drink, pulled up his shorts and followed her up a flight of broken stairs. They arrived at a room that smelt of smoke and sex. It had an old pool table with a torn cloth and a small, empty bar. She locked the door behind them, leaned him up against the pool table and rammed her tongue down his throat. After several seconds of a sloppy snog, she broke away.
“You want fuck me?”
Stan nodded. She unbuttoned Stan’s shorts and slipped them down to his ankles. She stepped over to the bar, rummaged around and found a dusty bottle of Thai whisky and some mixers, hidden in a cupboard underneath.
“What you drink?”
“Whisky soda.” Stan replied.

He started to shuffle over like a penguin to take his drink, his shorts still around his ankles. “Stay there,” she laughed. “I bring to you.” He shuffled back feeling foolish and waited. His heart thumped as she glided over, placed the drinks on the side then fell to her knees. She pulled down his boxers, took his manhood in her hands and tickled the tip with her nails. She took him deeply in her mouth and caressed him with her long, strong tongue. He glanced down; her eyes met his as she started to suck him fast and furiously. He could feel himself coming, again, and reached down to take her firm, left breast in his hand. She continued, careful not to finish him, her musky perfume tickling his nostrils. He reached down, slipped his hand through her dress and ventured down her legs.

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