The scene was peaceful, idyllic, but Kate felt anything but peace. She sat down on a bench, and finally allowed the thoughts and memories to flood over her.
The gardens reminded her of the shady grove in Ayuthaya, where she and Somtow had coupled under the watchful eye of the guardian Buddha. Kate closed her eyes. She could taste the salty sweat, smell the moist fragrance of her own sex. She felt again the delightful fullness of Somtow’s cock inside her, the ache to impale herself more deeply. Her nipples hardened and her clit swelled. Little twinges, echoing the pain from last night, rippled down from her breasts to the hot folds between her legs.
The scene changed and now Gregory knelt before her, working her cunt with his slick fingers, calculating just how much arousal she needed to balance the bite of the clamps. He played her like a fish on his line. She had taken every bait, she realised, fallen into every trap. He had said that she chose to answer his call, but was this really her choice? Who would consciously choose pain and humiliation?
Kate heard voices and opened her eyes. A young couple strolled past her, holding hands and laughing softly together. Just before they rounded the bend and left her sight, the young man leaned over and shyly kissed his companion on the lips.
How sweet, though Kate, with a tinge of bitterness. How innocent and pure.
Then she heard Gregory laughing. She could clearly imagine his reaction, his words. “Be honest, Kate! Is that what you want, innocence and purity? You would be bored. You would be hungry.”
She knew this was true. Even with David, she had felt something missing. She had craved the dangerous, the forbidden, the extreme. In Somtow, she had found a lover who, it seemed, had no shame, who would do anything in the pursuit of sensual pleasure. And with Gregory, she had gone further, allowing him to strip away her illusions and disguises, to show her the true darkness of her desires.
Dark, dark. In fact, the light was fading in the quick tropical dusk. Kate sighed and headed toward the gate. So, it probably is me, she thought, at least partially. Gregory may evoke it, amplify it, twist it to his own ends, but the desire is mine. I love being helpless, giving him control. I love being used in new, shameful, deviant ways. Even the pain I love, because it comes from his hands, because it proves my submission to his will.
I can accept this about myself, she mused, and continue to explore this path, disturbing and exciting. Or, I can reject it as unbalanced and unhealthy, and return to a normal sex life. Whatever that means.
Kate was suddenly certain that if she were to tell Gregory that she wished to end their association, he would not try to convince her otherwise. She imagined such a scene, and saw regret in his eyes, and respect, but his persuasive powers were held in check. He had seduced her once, but he would not try to do so again.
Then she thought about his fevered hands, his devilish grin, the hard rod of flesh that he used as an instrument of punishment and fulfilment. Could she bear to relinquish these things, even if this was the healthy thing to do?
The clean, uncluttered streets seemed bleak as she walked from the subway kiosk back to her hotel, as bleak as the prospect of turning away from Gregory and her own submissive fantasies.
Alone with her thoughts, Kate enjoyed a fiery Szechuan dinner in the hotel restaurant. David would have appreciated this, she thought, full of longing for his comfortable presence. Recklessly, she ordered a bottle of Bordeaux and drank two-thirds of it with her scallops in garlic sauce. Then she wove her way up to her room, definitely unsteady on her feet.
The room spun a little as she lay naked and exhausted on the cool sheets. The room was basic, utilitarian, no plush carpets or silk draperies. Through the open window came the muted sounds of evening traffic. The ceiling fan washed her bare skin with an intermittent breeze, rhythmic and soothing like surf on a distant beach.
So, here I am, she thought, in a strange city, nearly a thousand miles from Bangkok and its temptations. But I can’t run away from myself.
She ran her hands over her breasts, across her belly, lightly down her thighs, savouring the smooth curves of her own body. Gregory had said that she was born to be his slave. Some part of her resonated in agreement. Her sex stirred and tingled at the thought. She closed her eyes and listened to the whisper of the fan.
Is there anything that he could ask of me that I would not do? she wondered. As if in answer, images began to play against her closed eyelids. She saw herself bent over a chair, her rump exposed and vulnerable, while Marshall swung a flexible bamboo cane, that whistled through the air and left long red welts on her skin. Then she was on her hands and knees, and Marshall was fitting a bridle and bit in her mouth; she felt the horsehair tail embedded in her ass, tickling the backs of her thighs, saw the riding crop leaning against the stool in front of her. Now a more subtle picture: she knelt behind Gregory’s back as he held open the cheeks of his own buttocks, commanding that she service his anus with her lips and tongue.
A shiver ran through her. Would she, could she do this? Here, by herself, the thought was disgusting and yet fascinating. Kate rolled over, and stuck a pillow between her legs, as she used to do when she was a girl. She rocked back and forth, the indirect pressure on her clit building a different kind of arousal.
The pictures continued to unroll in her wine-loosened imagination, becoming more vivid and elaborate. Where was she getting these ideas? She had never thought about such things before. Had Marshall somehow planted these notions in her subconscious? She felt his presence, now, radiant warmth as if he stood beside the bed watching her.
She was kneeling again, but now it was Noi, the seductive mamasan, who stood before her, one booted foot elevated on a stool so that her sex was spread and visible. The Thai woman’s pubic area was shaved smooth; Kate could see every detail of her labia, ripe-looking folds of flesh that glistened with moisture, and her fat clitoris that peeked out between them. “Eat her,” she heard Gregory say, “eat her well, or believe me, she will whip you so hard that you’ll think my beatings were mere ticklings.”
Kate moaned a little as she ground the pillow harder into her groin. Her nostrils were filled with the rising odours from her own sex. Or perhaps this was Noi’s scent, as she saw herself lapping at the other woman’s cunt, exploring the secret tastes and textures, while Gregory watched.
The scene shifted again. She was bound, hanging from an iron hook in the ceiling. Her legs were spread by a rigid bar fastened to her leather anklets. Gregory circled her, inspecting her, then returned carrying a lacquered wooden box. He opened it before her, to display an array of phalluses and dildos, of rubber, leather, even stainless steel. The smallest was longer and thicker than Gregory’s own enormous penis.
“Your choice,” he said, his tone mocking and bright. “What is your pleasure, my dear?” Leaning forward conspiratorially, he added, “You must choose one for the front, of course, and one for the back…”
Kate thrashed and writhed on the pillow, as she imagined Gregory forcing these huge prongs into her orifices. Suddenly she craved penetration; she needed desperately to be filled. She rolled over on her back and thrust all four fingers into her vagina. But this still left her unsatisfied.
She opened her eyes and looked around the sparsely-furnished room. Little help here, it seemed, and then she noticed the bedposts. The bed had a plain wooden headboard, ornamented with smooth posts topped with a knob, like chessman. Drunk on wine and her carnal fantasies, she was on her knees in an instant, trying to unscrew one of the posts from the frame.
It seemed at first that the ornament must be glued, or a single piece with the headboard, but then she felt movement. A few minutes work, and she held the post detached in her hand.
It was heavy, and nearly a foot long. It tapered slightly near the end, then bulged out into a globe about two inches in diameter. Kate ran her hands over its polished length. A trembling ran through her limbs. Surely, she did not dare…
Then she heard Gregory’s voice in her mind, through the haze of a
lcohol and desire. “You want to do it; you know you do. I want you to do it.”
She lay back on the bed, her knees bent and spread. Remembering Marshall as he prepared to bugger her, she wet the wooden rod all over with juices from her lust-drenched sex. Then she positioned it between her legs, and pushed.
For a moment, nothing happened. Kate doubted that she could penetrate herself with something so large and rigid. Then, as she continued to push, she felt the flesh begin to stretch, and the post slid into her well-lubricated channel.
Oh, the feelings! Just as she craved, the makeshift dildo filled her, solid, unyielding, tremendously exciting. She pushed it in as far as it would go, then rocked and twisted her pelvis, feeling the smooth head moving against her inner flesh. Then she pulled it almost completely out of her, so that just the knob remained within her. With her other hand, she played with her clit, rubbing it against the hard ball resting at the entrance. She continued to massage herself as she thrust in and out, harder and faster, fucking herself with her bedpost.
Kate was yelling now, oblivious to the fact that her neighbours might hear, oblivious to everything except the climax building with each wooden stroke. Her eyes closed, she saw Gregory’s face, smiling with approval. “If I were there with you, of course,” she heard him say in her mind, “that bedpost would be in your ass.” Just the words were enough, enough to send an orgasm screaming through her.
As the seizures of pleasure shook her, she dimly realised that she was calling Gregory’s name.
Katherine woke late. Sunshine streamed in the window and across the rumpled bed. It was warm, even with the fan. She felt clear-minded and refreshed, no trace of the alcohol-induced confusion that had fogged her thoughts the night before, and, fortunately, no hangover.
She rolled onto her stomach and arched her back in a delicious stretch. Her hand brushed something hard and slightly sticky. The bedpost! Smiling a little to herself, she took the thing to the bathroom, washed and dried it, and screwed it back into its place, an innocent part of the furnishings.
Kate realised that she was not embarrassed or ashamed by her actions of the previous evening. Strangely, she felt light-hearted, relieved. The weight of self-doubt and guilt that had dogged her was lifted. There had been no conscious decision, no real resolution, but somehow her orgiastic fantasies had cleansed her of the need to resolve or control the situation.
I don’t understand this, she thought to herself, and I don’t know where it will end. But for now, I’ll simply trust my intuitions. And Gregory’s.
It was already past seven o’clock in the evening when she arrived back at her house in Bangkok. Ae had left for the day. Kate found a note, in the maid’s childish block-printed English:
Mr Marshall call 3 time. Please call him 02243 0657
Kate felt a rush of pleasure. Gregory had never telephoned her before. Still, she was annoyed to realise that her heart was pounding and mouth dry with nervousness, as she dialled the number and listened to the repeated rings.
She was almost ready to hang up when he answered. “Hello. Marshall here”.
“Gregory, it’s me. Kate.”
“Kate!” She heard warmth in his voice, and relief. “Where have you been? I was concerned about you.”
“I had to get away, away by myself and think. The time at the hotel was so—intense. And confusing. I needed to sort things out.”
“I understand,” said the voice on the other end of the line softly. “I pushed you hard the other night. Maybe a bit too hard. It seems to come so naturally with you that I forget your inexperience.”
“No,” answered Kate, almost whispering. “It was not too hard. I see a little more clearly now, how it is between you and me. I see myself more clearly.”
“Ah, Kate! You have so much to learn! If you still want this, of course.”
“I do want it. I want you.” She found herself blushing at her forwardness.
“And I want you, Kate, in ways you probably cannot begin to imagine.” Kate recalled her night of fantasy as he paused. “Or maybe you can.
“Still,” he continued, “I think I will give you some time to recover. And next time, perhaps, offer a lesson that is less physical.”
Kate felt a stab of disappointment.
“Don’t worry,” Gregory laughed, as if he had read her thoughts. “You won’t find it easy.”
“Next Saturday night?” he asked. “Will you make yourself available?”
“Of course,” Kate answered, thinking that it would be a long week.
“I will send you instructions. I will expect you to obey.”
Kate was silent, wondering what new indignities he would contrive for her.
“Till then, Kate, be well.” His liquid voice was like a caress. “Good night, my eager little slave.”
She had a busy week ahead of her, busy enough to distract her from thoughts of Marshall. Monday morning she repeated the projective 3D demonstration for Edward Harrison. He was, if possible, more enthusiastic than Roj had been.
“Marvellous, Katherine, simply astounding!” he raved. “The illusion of depth, of solidity, is perfect.”
Katherine herself could still see flaws and discontinuities. However, she noted that the problems she had fixed the previous week had produced a discernible improvement.
“This will be a real coup for DigiThai,” he continued. “I see all sorts of possibilities for new contracts. We will leave our competitors in the dust.”
“I still have a great deal more work to do on this,” she cautioned her boss. “This is not ready for customer use, by Gregory Marshall or anyone else.”
“Marshall!” snorted Harrison. “He’s small potatoes compared to the people I have in mind. But of course, you’re right, we must keep this under wraps for the moment.” He patted her shoulder paternally. “Keep up the good work, my dear.”
Katherine resented his tone and his familiarity. She drew herself up to her full five feet two and said stiffly, “Thank you, Edward. I’ll do my best.”
Wednesday evening there was a reception sponsored by the Minister of Science and Technology. His Excellency the Minister had invited representatives of all the major high tech companies in Bangkok, to eat, drink, network and politick. Harrison insisted on escorting her. Katherine would have preferred Somtow’s company, but she had not heard from him since his departure for Hong Kong. She was not even sure that he had returned to Thailand.
This was Katherine’s first formal occasion since she arrived. She opted for what she thought was simple elegance, a short cocktail dress of black satin, with cap sleeves and a deeply scooped neckline. On her left shoulder she wore the intricate dragon brooch of red-gold that David had bought for her last birthday. The jewellery matched her hair, which she had swept off her neck and into a pile of curls at the back of her head. When Harrison arrived to pick her up, she could tell by his expression that he was impressed.
As she settled into the back seat with her employer, Chaiwat looked over his shoulder at her and grinned. “Good evening, Miss O’Neill,” he said. His tone was respectful, but his insolent gaze made her uncomfortable.
Dusk was deepening into night as the Mercedes pulled up at the entrance to the posh Imperial Hotel. Harrison opened the door and helped her out of the car. “You look stunning, Katherine,” he said appreciatively. “DigiThai is fortunate to be represented by someone with your beauty as well as your intelligence.”
In the U.S., Katherine realised, such a comment would be viewed as sexist and inappropriate. Here in Thailand, though, the rules were different. She was silent as Harrison took her arm and led her into the ballroom.
The room was full of men and women of many nationalities, all gorgeously attired. Like a flock of tropical birds, thought Katherine, delighted with the scene. There were Indonesians and Malaysians in intricate, earth-toned batiks; Indian women wearing flowing, jewelled saris and men in embroidered tunics and satin turbans; Chinese women in fitted choengsans of red or gold broca
de.
The Thais were, perhaps, the most splendid of all. Many of the women wore traditional costumes, sarong-like skirts and tight bodices in a rainbow of hues, silk embroidered with gold and silver thread or woven into shimmering multicolour patterns. The Thai men, meanwhile, wore spotless white military uniforms decked with brass buttons and bright ribbons, or the typical high-collared tunics of striped cotton or silk.
“Can I get you a drink, Katherine?” asked Harrison. He gestured toward the bar near one wall. An elaborate ice-sculpture of a swan towered above the heads of the bar-keepers. Tables piled high with hors d’oeuvres were scattered through the room, decorated with fruit carvings and exotic flowers.
“Yes, thank you, Edward. White wine, please.” Katherine watched him wind his way through the crowd. She felt relieved to be out of his company.
“Katherine!” Somtow’s familiar voice made her whirl around. “I did not expect to see you here this evening.”
Her Thai prince stood behind her, his face alight with welcome. He took both her hands in his own and simply stood for a moment, gazing at her with something akin to adoration. Katherine was both embarrassed and pleased.
“I didn’t realise that you had returned from Hong Kong, Somtow,” she said.
“Only this afternoon. A difficult but profitable trip. It took me all week, but I managed to negotiate two new contracts with Hong Kong advertising agencies.”
Katherine had assumed Somtow provided only financial backing to DigiThai. Suddenly she saw what an asset he might be, with his connections and his charm, in winning new business.
“Well, welcome home.” She squeezed hands enthusiastically. “You were missed.”
“As were you,” he replied, with a twinkle in his eye. He lowered his voice slightly. “When can I see you again, privately? Are you available this Saturday evening? I will be free.”
Gregory’s mocking face rose in Katherine’s mind. “No, I am afraid not. Would Sunday be a possibility?”
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