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Singapore Girl #5
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
SINGAPORE GIRL
Part 5 of 7.
Things went along quite nicely for the next few weeks -- and
quite a bit more conventionally. As the weather turned warmer with
the onset of spring, we settled into a very comfortable rhythm.
June had communicated her desire to keep the big dildo and a
vibrator handy and both got used pretty regularly as part of our
foreplay. On one occasion, June decided to make use of a cucumber,
but the damn thing kept slipping.
She started inviting me to various Jaycee get-togethers. I fit
in really well -- bearded, casual (usually jeans) and absolutely
zero tolerance for bullshit. I was reminded of all the reasons I'd
dropped out of advertising five years before. Still -- they were
not only networking; they were actually doing things for the
community ... and that was more than I could say. All were civil,
some were polite, a few were friendly and a couple were downright
charming. I in turn invited her to the annual awards banquet held
by my writer's organization, which shall rename nameless. (Hint: If
you've read The Hugo Winners, you could have met most of the
authors there.) Bless her heart, June understood the importance of
the event -- hell, I even got a haircut and wore a tie -- and
decided to do me up proud.
When I called for her, she was wearing different makeup than
usual. It made her seem a bit older and far more polished. She was
wearing high heels, something she normally avoided. And she wore a
cheong-sam, the traditional sheath-like dress with the slit up the
side. It was jet black, clingy, and tied about her neck, leaving
her back and shoulders bare. With her pale flesh and flawless
complexion, her slinky dress and a flash of long, shapely leg right
up to mid-thigh with each graceful step, she looked utterly
scrumptious.
Our arrival at the pre-banquet cocktail party sent a ripple of
silence from the doorway through the large room in the Waldorf.
Heads turned and eyes widened. I was noticed only because I was
with her. She brought all of her Jaycee and ex-im skills to bear
and by the time we were seated for the actual awards banquet, about
a half-dozen editors were introducing themselves to me and asking
if I had any novel-length material (I had already published some
short stories).
When we got back to her place, she was quite tired and we
slept, snuggling close. I went out the next morning and did
something I had never before done: I bought a ring for the woman.
Not only was she bright, sweet, dedicated, beautiful and
unbelievably sexy, she was willing to back up -- all the way -- her
man. I put the ring in my dresser and began thinking the whole
matter through and trying to determine the right time. And that
time wouldn't be too long: Her visa was expiring and she would have
to leave America ... unless she qualified for accelerated
naturalization, say, as a relative of a citizen. And I knew she
wanted to stay. But I had to be careful. It mustn't seem like
gratitude or a payoff for this proud, tough woman who'd worked and
thought her way out of the slums of Singapore.
A couple of days later, as I was leaving her place after a
deliciously languorous night of intermittent fucking and dozing,
June stopped me at the door:
"About tonight -- "
"Yes?"
"I have a fantasy..."
Oh, goody! I thought.
"I want you to tie me up."
I paused, regaining compsure and then delivered my
brilliant repiposte: "Huh?"
"Well -- " Abruptly, she seemed almost shy. "You told me once
you always wanted to make a woman cum so hard she would pass out.
And sometimes when it becomes very intense for me I make you stop
what you're doing until I calm down."
"And what would you like me to be doing to you while you're
tied up?"
"Whatever you want to do that will make me cum like that. I
have wanted to try this for a long time, but you are the first
person I ever would trust."
"It's not somethig I'm exactly keen to do, you know."
"That is one reason I trust you to do it."
"You're not afraid I would hurt you?"
She smiled and slithered into my arms. "You would never hurt
anyone, least of all me." She fumbled at my belt. "I want you to do
whatever you want with me and tell me what you are doing and what
you are thinking and imagining -- " She opened my pants and was
fumbling around inside. "It makes me itchy just to think of it."
I disengaged her hand -- carefully, I might add -- and
repaired my attire. (That sounds so damned proper, doesn't it?
"Repaired my attire." Faded jeans and a sweatshirt.)
"So you're leaving it up to me, eh?"
"No one knows how to make me cum better -- not even me."
I nodded. "Alright, June -- I'll be here at nine."
"What would you like for dinner?"
"I'll have eaten. You will, too -- no later than seven-thirty.
I want you to be showered and dried off and warm. I want you to
wear that old blue nightdress, the one that's worn through near the
shoulder. I will call you at eight-thirty. Take my call on the
phone by the bed. Have the answering machine hooked up for the
office phones."
She looked at me strangely. "What have you got in mind?"
I stepped to the other side of the vestibule door. She was
wearing jeans and a cableknit blue v-neck sweater. She'd pulled
them on only to see me to the door and there was nothing underneath
except June. But even through the thick strands of the sweater, I
could see that her nipples were hugely swollen and her chest and
neck were brightly flushed.
"June, this is your idea. Go along with it," I said, "and you
will cum as you have never imagined you could cum."
Halfway down the block to my house I was wondering if I'd let
my mouth run away with itself. That was a tall order I'd promised
to fill for this short woman.
But by the time I'd reached my place, I was already analyzing
the situation and the outlines of what would do the trick were
forming in my head.
The first thing I did was stop at Rudy's. I had a good working
arrangement with Rudy, the semi-competent superintendent for my
apartment building. When I needed the use of his workshop, I'd spot
him ten bucks. He'd long since learned that I took good care of the
tools -- better than he did, in fact. He even let me store some of
my stuff there. I checked through the pile of scrap lumber and
found some pieces of three-quarter inch plywood that were workable and
enough odds and ends of one-by and two-by to serve.
I took the BMT to 23rd Street and bought some thick,
industrial grade gray carpet remnants at ABC -- another five bucks
-- and then walked home. Along the way, I stopped at Paterson Silks
at University and Fourteenth. To my knowledge, Paterson has never
sold silk bolts. Their specialty is good, serviceable fabrics for
the thousands of working poor and welfare recipients who try to
make a few bucks stretch farther by doing their own sewing. If you
want to meet some young, stunningly beautiful and irrepressibly
vital Puerto Rican single mothers, Paterson Silks is a good place
to go. But be forewarned -- they can steal your heart away.
I bought what I needed in Paterson, walked the rest of the way
home, dropped the hardgoods in the shop, stored the rest in my
place, then headed for the Pink Pussy Cat over on West Fourth near
Jones Street. It was almost ten-thirty and they would be opening.
The Pink Pussy Cat is an adult toystore. There are others, to
be sure -- but the PPC staff makes it special. They seems to have
this basic attitude problem: When people work up the courage to
walk down the five steps to the entrance of the well (but not
garishly) lit emporium, the staff for some reason assumes these are
people who think sex should be fun and have a sense of joy and
humor. When I had entered the PPC to buy a vibrator for Annie,
they'd asked me what kind. I'd said, Hell, what've you got? To
which the pimply young woman had said, We've got these.
She'd proceeded to take one of each and every vibrator in the
store and set it on the counter. Those that could stand up on their
bases were so arranged. Then she activated every one of them. The
standing ones moved around in little circles, the pumping ones spun
and pumped, the squirming ones writhed and wriggled, etc. One of
the other clerks switched the radio from Lite Rock to a disco
station and the staff that weren't busy stood around and voted on
which vibrator won the Dance Fever contest and someone hug a tinsel
garland around it as an award. We are not talking pretentious,
superior, overbearing fools here.
Indeed, they had just opened and the on-duty clerk asked what
I wanted.
"I want a dildo -- big."
"Long or thick?" he asked, a tad on the fey side, and every
bit as professional as any of them were.
"Both. This is for someone who wants that stuffed feeling."
"Woman or -- " He grins broadly and infectiously. "-- man?"
"Woman. Good definition of woman, in fact."
"Vaginal, then -- or -- ?"
"Vaginal."
"Color?"
"Her color's got nothing to do -- " His expression stopped me.
"Sorry. Flesh, black, latex -- whatever."
He located a half dozen, ranging in size from the biggest that
I already owned to something he called "Big Fred," which was about
fifteen inches long and had to be six inches in diameter.
"I just got an inferiority complex."
"I know the feeling," he said.
"Do people use this for a coat rack or do they really use this
for, uh --"
"Mostly gay men into fistfucking and pain, I think." He made a
face. "A great deal of pain." He shrugged. "Also, we have a catalog
and you can special order -- "
"No. I found just the ticket."
And I had. It was called, I think, "California Reaming." It
was about eighteen inches long. It made no attempt at being
lifelike. It was as if someone had put pieces of fruit of
increasing size -- smallest first -- into a latex tube. The result
was a knob of latex about an inch and a half thick, followed by a
slight depression, then another knob, a bit thicker, and so forth.
The knob at the base had to be five inches thick. The base was
flattened and there was a hollow opening about a half inch thick.
The salesman opened a drawer and took out a length of slim
metal rod that was terminated with a three quarter inch pipethread.
He carefully inserted the stiffener's blunted end -- "For safety,"
he said -- into the latex tube. "We also sell a pedestal -- "
I shook my head. "How much for this?"
It was close to a hundred bucks -- Yikes! -- but I figured,
What the hell? I took my purchase home -- along with the salesman's
wise (if unnecessary) cautions to use PLENTY of lubricant.
Next, I headed for Canal Street. The border between Chinatown
and Little Italy is lined with hardware and electronics stores.
Most of them have merchandise overflowing onto boxes and makeshift
shelves on the sidewalk and many also offer used "as is"
miscellany. I found an "as is" Skil orbital sander that lacked the
lockdown clamps that hold the sandpaper and was missing most of the
handle. No problem -- five bucks. At an open-air electrical and
electronics parts supply store I found a perfectly serviceable
rheostat for another fiver. At the plumbing supply outlet I bought
an coupling that would adapt the base of the dildo's stiffener to
the plate screw on the sander. I picked up a couple of hinges and
headed for the workshop. It was a bit past noon when my shopping
was done.
June was right about me, of course: I did know what made her
cum most. I knew that massive head gave her screaming orgasms too
excruciating for her to bear for very long -- and made her always
juicy and hungry cunt downright voracious for stuffing.
I used the plywood to build a cube about on each side. I
drilled appropriate holes and mounted the sander inside, then
mounted the rheostat so the lead to the control dial poked
through the opposite side of the box. I hooked up the wiring,
plugged it in, turned it on. With the sander set to its slowest
setting and the rheostat thumbed to the lowest gauge, it made for a
wonderfully variable vibration. I installed the adapter couplings,
then covered the whole thing with the carpet remnants. Then I slid
the dildo onto the stiffener, screwed the stiffener onto the sander
coupling and -- presto! -- the world's biggest and most luxurious
vibrating dildo.
Of course, the whole thing weighed about forty pounds. The
weight of the sander, box and rheostat seemed to be enough to
counter the extended weight of the latex.
I had to make one more shopping trip for two extensions -- one
to lead to the rheostat from the outlet and one so I could be as
much as ten feet from the box and still control it -- batteries and
plenty of K-Y lubricant. I also bought two bottles of wine.
I threw a tarp over the whole affair and stopped by Rudy's
apartment to tell him I'd be picking up my creation at a quarter to
nine. I gave him another five for the extra trouble. I went up to
my place and fixed a big plate of linguini with clam sauce and
purposely overate. As I expected, I felt drowsy. I set the alarm
and lay down to nap for a while.
I woke at eight and showered and trimmed my beard. I thought
carefully about what I would say and at eight-thirty I picked up
the phone and prepared to begin June's night of fantasy fulfilled.
I dialed the number. She answered on the second ring.
"What re you wearing?"
"What are you going to -- "
"Listen."
She hesitated.
"Do you like it when I suck your clitoris? When I stick that
big rubber cock in you? When I jam my hand up your cunt and move it
around?"
I could hear her breathing, short, shallow pants.
"Tell me!"
"Ooooo, I am so itchy -- "
"What are you wearing?"
"I'm wearing -- "
"Take it off, all of it, then pick up the phone."
When she picked up the phone, she giggled, nervously. "Now I
want you to touch your clit."
"But -- "
"Do it."
I heard her little gasp; that was all the confirmation I
needed.
"Keep doing it -- go on -- that's it -- rub and press and rub
... and now stick one fingr in your cunt..."
She gasped again. Then: "Oooo, I am so wet and horny -- "
"Now go downstairs and unlock the door to your place, then
come back up. Light one candle and turn out all the lights. Then
lay down on the bed and masturbate and keep masturbating until I
arrive -- "
She groaned.
"I will be there exactly at nine o'clock."
"But I am naked!"
"Yes. That's your problem. Maybe someone will get a glimpse of
your sweet tits or your lovely cunt or your tight Chinese ass -- "
She groaned again.
"You wanted to put yourself completely in my fucking control.
Do it -- and if you don't do what I say, this night is over and
someone else will enjoy the treats I have planned for your hot, wet
cunt."
I hung up and checked the clock. Eight-thirty-eight. I fed
the dog, took my supplies and a clean pillowcase, then
locked up the place and left. I went to the workshop and dismantled
my contraption, then put the parts into the pillow case and threw
it into a canvas carpenter's bag.
I got to her door at five to nine. My cock was like a bar of
iron in my pants. One of the waitresses from the espresso house
occupying the second floor of her building -- the first floor was a
retail space -- saw me standing there with the bag and smiled.
"What's in the bag?"
"Tool."
She looked directly at my bulging crotch and grinned. "Uh-
huh," she said, and shimmied through the entrance to the cafe.
At two minutes to nine I entered June's vestibule and locked
the door behind me. I climbed the long, carpeted stairway to the
first floor -- where her offices were -- and glanced inside. The
telex was on STORE and the answering machine was turned on.
So was I.
I climbed the second long flight of stairs to her living
quarters. All the lights were out.
"David?"
Her voice echoed through the silent -- but for the distant
sound of music from the cafe -- apartment.
"Are you doing what I told you -- "
"I -- "
"Do it!"
I heard the bed creak and as I listened to her pant faster and
more urgently and the bed begin creaking, I ducked into the
bathroom. In the linen closet were bath sheets -- enormous towels.
I took two of them. I stepped into the bedroom and reached into my
bag of tricks. I withdrew the vibrator, opened it, loaded it with
two D-Cells and tossed it onto the bed.
"Use it on your clit," I ordered and stepped out of the room.
I went through the darkened hallway to her living room. There I
got two of the bolsters from her sectional. I rolled them the long
way and wrapped them in the towel, then tied the whole thing with
two of the lengths of silk ribbon I'd bought at Paterson. I carried
the makeshift cushion and my bag into her bedroom.
She was writhing wildly on top of the bedcovers, plunging the
vibrator in and out of her cunt and --
"Stop!" I snapped.
She almost stopped.
"I said use it on your clit, not in your cunt!"
"But I am so itchy -- "
"That's the idea."
She complied, but only after a loud, almost pitiful, groan.
I put my bag on the floor and next to it, the tightly rolled
cushions.
My cock was trying to rip my jeans.
I screwed the base thread of the dildo stiffener into its
slot and carried the whole thing to the bed.
Even in the darkness, I could see her eyes widen. "What -- "
I didn't answer yet. I opened the K-Y and smeared it all over
the end of the dildo. I used most of one tube. Then I took the
lead cord and plugged it in to the outlet. Next, I put the bound
billows on the bed and retrieved my other silk ribbons from the
bag. June kept pumping her clit and arching her hips as I bound
her wrists. Then I tied a ribbon around each slender ankle. I put
the rolled-up bolsters lengthwise on her belly and breasts and then
tied her with the ribbons from her wrists together around it --
strapping her to the bolsters. Then I did the same with the ankle
ribbons. Next, I rolled her onto all fours -- the "fours" being
tied around the bolster. And all the time, she never stopped
working the vibrator around her cunt.
Finally, I took two long ribbons and fed them around and under
the mattress -- between the lumpy mattress and the boxsprings, to
be precise. When I was done, she was on all fours, bound to the
rolled-up bolsters and immobilized by the ties to the bed.
At some point, the vibrator had slipped from her fingers --
but no matter. I had begun muttering random, vague dirty words to
her and her juices had already dampened the pillowcase containing
the bolsters.
"What are you going to do to me???" she cried softly.
"Whatever the fuck I want," I answered. I stripped quickly nd
then paused, taking stock.
Before me was a gorgeous Chinese girl from Singapore who, at
her request, I had tied up and rendered utterly helpless. She had
begged me to do with her as I wished and make her cum till she
literally was unconscious with pleasure.
I stepped to the side of the bed and look down at her. Her
legs were forced apart by her position and beautiful little cunt
was exposed -- but her position also tautened and emphasized the
perfection of her sweet, tight little ass; the narrowness of her
hips; the superb proportions of her back, and the perfect line of
her legs.
She had begged me to do with her as I wished -- and as I
looked at her naked form, as I inhaled the heady aroma of her
copious juice and her unmistakable arousal, I anticipated doing
just that -- fucking her and making her cum till she -- and I
-- had reached another plane of reality.
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