Her Master's Voice

by Jacqueline George

  Seeking more, she lifted herself until she balanced with the fingertips of one hand on his chest while her other hand reached for her sex. Tim raised himself on his elbows to watch more closely as she pressed her clit and rubbed fiercely. He had never seen a woman do this before, and it fascinated him. Her shuttling fingertips butted against his shaft as she rubbed and he could feel her pussy vibrating around him. She had her eyes pressed closed and she was frowning and biting her lip.

  Her climax surprised him. Her hand flew from between her legs and she threw herself onto his chest. He caught and held her as she jerked and spasmed in his arms.

  “Oh Timmee,” she whispered into his shoulder. “You like? You like to see me?”

  “It was fantastic! Do it again.”

  She giggled and pretended to hit him. “No, too much!” but she pushed herself up until she knelt astride him again. This time she sat back and watched him as she held her lips open with one hand and gently stroked herself with the other. “You like?”

  “It’s beautiful,” he assured her, “and you are very sexy too.”

  She started to ride slowly up and down on him, still stroking herself. “You like, Timmee?” She insisted on hearing him.

  “Oh, I like it,” he said, “Come for me again.”

  She frowned. “Not yet.” She stretched up until she held only the head of his cock inside her and pressing two fingers between her lips, started to pull her pussy up and down, side to side. She watched his eyes as her silky sweet mouth pulled, sucked, kissed at his swollen head. “Good, Timmee?”

  “Oooooh.” He stared at her hands, trying to focus through the shadows on where he disappeared into her. He began to move.

  “No,” she panted, “you quiet. I do it.” She was using both hands now, squeezing her lips around his head with her fingers, massaging his plum with her pussy. He threw his head back and closed his eyes. He gave himself up to the assault on his senses, the soft wet slipperiness and her hard fingers ringing his shaft just below the mushroom head. She too was excited and her breath came in gasps. She felt very wet and her fingers moved easily.

  Then her fingers became more insistent, rubbing herself and probing into her tunnel beside his cock. The wriggling fingers rubbed his most sensitive places. He moaned in his pleasure.

  Darti lifted herself higher and he fell out of her. His eyes snapped open and he watched as she held him just below her sweet spot. She turned her hand and gripped his shaft so that her thumb lay along it. The ball of her thumb rested on his plum, rubbing gently from side to side. He could just make out the movement in the shadows below her.

  Watching his reaction, she lowered herself onto him, still rubbing him with her thumb. She squeezed very tightly around him. “Yes, Timmee?”

  “Aaaah -” he moaned. She set her weight down on him and her fist still gripped him, her thumb buried inside her, rubbing him regularly. She was rocking her hips.

  “You come, Timmee. You come now.” He gave himself up to her.

  Chapter 12

  Sherry rode the taxi home from the Irishman in confusion. Beside her Ranji chattered, talking of the traffic, the weather, anything. Perhaps she sensed something of Sherry’s unhappiness at what had just happened to her because when they got home, she reached out and took her hand.

  “Let’s go to the zoo! We’ve got the taxi all afternoon and it would be a big shame not to use it. Come on, we’ll change and go.”

  Ranji threw on her normal clothes while Sherry was still deciding what to wear. She watched without comment while Sherry got into a loose shirt and baggy shorts that hid her shape. She expected Ranji to object and insist on her dressing in clothes that made her look ‘more like a woman’. She was ready to argue and fight, but Ranji let her dress like an anonymous English woman and said nothing. She just wanted to get Sherry out of the house and on the road to Woodlands and the zoo.

  Strolling through the zoo was what she needed to settle her. Sharing an umbrella against the sun, they had chattered and giggled like schoolgirls along the paths between the animal enclosures. Ranji surprised her by knowing her way around the park. She said she came here often with younger relatives and knew all the animals. The tigers were her favourites. That came as no surprise. Sherry could imagine her as a tiger.

  While they talked and strolled, Sherry’s mind slowly accommodated itself to what had just happened. Before long, she was watching Ranji’s agile tongue licking her ice-cream and smiling to herself.

  “Did you like the Irishman?” Sherry asked as they drove home.

  “Him? Oh no, he’s a bad man. Did you?”

  “No. He didn’t talk to us like ladies. Was it difficult to—to let him?”

  Ranji chuckled. “I wasn’t watching him! I was watching you being a naughty girl.”

  “That was difficult. I’ve never let anyone see me do that before. Not even Tim.”

  “Mmmh. Well, you looked very sexy. I could see you were enjoying it.”

  “But I wasn’t!” she protested. “I hated it. At first, anyway. With him watching—I couldn’t do it. Then I had to, but it was difficult. I wasn’t ready.”

  Ranji looked at her in disbelief. “Well, you’re a good actor. I thought you enjoyed what I was doing.”

  Sherry felt herself blushing. “It was different with you. I sort of liked that, but I still didn’t like him watching.”

  “Ah-ha. I thought so. You tasted ready, and that made it good for me too. I even liked the Irishman trying to fill me up after that.”

  “You didn’t mind—you didn’t mind doing it to me?”

  “Of course not! It was sexy. Haven’t you done it with a girl before?”

  Sherry’s female past was limited to school experiments with her friends. “No, only men.”

  “Really? I’ll have to do it to you again sometime. When we’re alone, with no-one watching. Then you’ll see how clever I am.”

  Sherry still felt uncomfortable with the idea and she changed the subject. “Why were we there, Ranji? What has the Irishman got to do with Papi Bombar?”

  “Truly, I don’t know. I know that Papi and his friends had promised to do something for the Irishman and then they couldn’t do it. Or perhaps it got delayed, I don’t know. Any normal man would just let it go, complain perhaps and then wait until whatever it was could be done, but the Irishman is a bully. He wanted to make Papi do something for him, just to show him he is the boss. He wanted to humiliate us all but it hasn’t worked. I don’t feel humiliated, do you?”

  “I guess not,” said Sherry slowly, “but I hope it doesn’t happen again.”

  “After this afternoon and the show we gave him? He’ll call for us, you’ll see. And he’ll offer money for us to go and do it again. I shall tell Papi to say no, no matter how much he offers. With anyone else, I’d think about it, but not the Irishman.”

  “You’d do that sort of thing for money?” Her attitude shocked Sherry.

  “Oh, it depends. On the man and the money. If he was rich and sexy, I’d do it just for fun anyway, so why shouldn’t I get paid for it as well? Most of these people have too much money. It means nothing to them, but it means new clothes and gold to me. I love money and if I’m going to have sex anyway…”

  That week at yoga, Papi singled them out for praise and thanks. His smile shone like sun on her shoulders.

  The two weeks of Tim’s absence passed slowly. She had so little to do that held her interest. Ranji came late one afternoon and they went to the cinema, bundled up like snow-maidens against the cold of the air conditioning. Another morning they spent window-shopping on Orchard Road and ended up having bindi bhaji and chapattis at their favourite stall in the Cuppage Centre. But it would have been much more fun with Tim.

  She was shopping for his return in the supermarket when a thin Chinese man with greying hair came up to her. “Miss Sherry, I believe?” He looked unremarkable, white shirt open at the neck and dark trousers, pens and glasses squeezed into his shirt pocket, but his Engl
ish was unusual. Not Singapore, but English public school.

  “I’m sorry—,” she stuttered in confusion.

  “Excuse me, a friend of Tim’s,” He held his hand out to shake. “Hangchi. Would you be kind enough to ask him to see me as soon as he gets back?”

  “Thursday. I’m expecting him on Thursday evening, unless there’s a problem on the rig.”

  “Good. Perhaps we should meet here on Friday? Is ten o’clock too early, do you think? I’ll come to the Pizza Hut outside. We can have a coffee. Or a beer. Will you tell him for me?”

  He had surprised Sherry but she must have nodded because Hangchi was leaving. “Good. Good. I’ll be here.” Then he turned back. “Oh, and it would be better if you didn’t tell anyone else, Miss Sherry. If you don’t mind.”

  Chapter 13

  Tim took Sherry with him to meet Inspector Hangchi. They sat in the Pizza Hut, already busy so early in the morning, and drank coffee. Hangchi looked relaxed and more interested in Sherry’s opinion of Singapore than the sealed envelope at his elbow. Just before they left, he tore it open and read.

  “Do you know what’s here?” he asked.

  “No. I didn’t meet the person at all this time.”

  “Good. It’s probably better that way. When do you go back? Next Thursday? That’s too early for anything interesting. Just pass the word that we will be ready. This time, we’ll be ready.”

  To her credit, she thought, Sherry did not question Tim. Instead they took a taxi off to the wild east of Singapore. Pulau Ubin, where there were still working rubber plantations and the cars were not taxed or registered. They sat together on a park railing near the Changi jetty, looking out over the grey strait to Pulau Ubin and the dark green of Malaysia beyond. To their left, close to shore, the boats of the yacht club bobbed at their moorings. Two small fishing boats crept up the strait. The only other vessel moving was the ferry that had just put off from Pulau Ubin.

  Tim used the wait to explain to Sherry about Hangchi and the letter. About Captain Rais and the Islamic connection, about everything except Darti.

  “You mean—these people—you mean terrorists?”

  He looked straight at her. “Yes.”

  A cold hand gripped Sherry’s stomach. “But it’s dangerous…”

  “I don’t think so. Well, not for us anyway. I’m not involved. I just carried a couple of letters for Captain Rais, that’s all, and it’s finished now. What Hangchi does now is strictly up to him. He doesn’t need my help.”

  “But when you’re working—what if they find out?”

  “There’s nothing to find. People carry letters backwards and forwards all the time. I don’t know anything about terrorists and I don’t care.” He erased The Man Who Ate Pork from his memory. “Nothing ever happens at CampDua anyway. Too many foreigners and there’s oil money to think of. The Government would never tolerate any trouble there.”

  She half believed his assurances but found herself holding his hand as they walked the dirt tracks of Pulau Ubin, through a rural Singapore that was rapidly disappearing and had already vanished from the mainland. She worried for him and came to his bed that night to make quiet love.

  Next morning, a phone call came for Tim. “Hello, Tim. Alistair, remember me?”

  “Of course. Where are you?”

  “Singapore. I’m just calling to see if we could meet.”

  “Oh yes. We’d love that. Dinner?”

  “Well, it’s more in the nature of business. Do you think you could come by yourself? Without telling Sherry?” Alistair sounded cautious.

  “I suppose so. If you can make it this morning. I have to do some shopping for work anyway, and Sherry doesn’t enjoy that.”

  “Good, I’ll call you back in a moment.” He hung up and Tim was listening to an empty line. He called back immediately and said he would wait at the Mandarin, in the coffee shop.

  Tim had trouble getting a taxi and when he did the traffic was strangling the city. He arrived late at the Mandarin Hotel and rushed through to the coffee shop. Alistair was standing and smiling, hand outstretched.

  “You’re late, my friend, perhaps we should go upstairs straight away.”

  The five star luxury of the hotel left Tim cold. It was sterile, devoted to insulating its guests from the reality of Singapore. He could not imagine ever spending his own money to stay in a place like this. On the other hand, it could be fun to visit with clients, at Krumbein’s expense. They rode the lift to Alistair’s room, high in the tower.

  Alistair settled him next to the window, looking out over hazy Singapore with a soft drink in his hand. He wanted to say something but had difficulty getting started. He stood, troubled, not looking Tim in the eye.

  “My friend, I have a problem. We have only met once, but I like you and your wife. So when I heard something that suggests Sherry may be getting into trouble, I wasn’t sure what to do. Never interfere in another family’s business, that’s a good maxim, but on the other hand, if people are innocently being drawn into problems, perhaps I should do something. So if you’ll forgive me, I’d better tell you something of what I know.”

  His words shocked Tim. What had Sherry done? “What are you—?” A knock at the door interrupted him.

  “Damn!” said Alistair. “I wanted to talk to you first. Perhaps this is better. You can hear it directly from her. Look, can I ask you to just sit quiet and listen? I’ll explain anything you don’t understand afterwards.” Tim nodded uncertainly and he went to open the door.

  He ushered an Indian woman into the room, an attractive brown girl in a green and cream sari. She shared a flashing smile and glanced curiously at Tim. Alistair locked the door behind her and took her hand to kiss.

  “Ranji, my dear. How beautiful you are, as always. I swear I’m going to ask your father for your hand. This week. Today, in fact. No one else can have you. Now, do you know my friend? No? Well, this is Tim. Let’s get comfortable. What would you like to drink?”

  He fussed over her until she was sitting on the bed facing the two men in their armchairs.

  “How is your father, Ranji? Business still good?”

  “So-so, I’d say.” She laughed. “Much better than when we last met. Not everyone is as difficult to deal with as you are.”

  “Well, well, that’s how it is, I suppose. Now, Ranji. I have some serious business today and I’m afraid you’re not going to like it. Tell me about Sherry.”

  Ranji jumped as if he had hit her. “Sherry,” she squeaked. She finally recognised the name Tim and guessed why he was here.

  “Yes. All about her. Don’t worry, we’re not going to make trouble for you or her. We just want to know all about her, and you of course.”

  She sat watching them, tense and uncertain. Then she drew herself up ready to bluster when Alistair held his hand up. “Wait. You’re wearing far too many clothes for such a beautiful lady in a gentleman’s hotel room. Undress for me please.”

  She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

  Alistair was smooth but firm. “Come on, Ranji. We’re old friends. I wouldn’t do anything bad to you. I’ve known your father for years. He even borrows lots of money from me. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

  Ranji might have just had a severe shock but she was not stupid. Her visit had changed from a sexy and profitable interlude into a nightmare, but her father still owed money to Alistair. He probably knew about her visits to Alistair’s hotel anyway, and did not object. She tried to resist. “Please, Alistair.”

  “No, my dear. We’ll all be much happier if you take your clothes off.”

  Tim’s mind reeled. What he was seeing and hearing made no sense at all, and how could Sherry be involved with this woman anyway? And why was Alistair forcing her to strip? He watched numbly as the girl stood and started to unwind her sari. She did not look happy when she finally slipped off her underskirt and stood naked in front of Alistair.

  “You get more and more beautiful each time I see you, Ranji.
Now get onto the bed and we shall talk.”

  Reluctantly, Ranji climbed onto the bed and lay on her side with her head on her hand. In spite of the tension, Tim found himself admiring the deeply feminine curve made by her waist and broad hips. Her secrets were on show, round soft breasts with dark nipples and her fat hairless mound at the top of her thighs. She looked frightened.

  “Wonderful,” said Alistair, “Singapore’s Venus. Now talk. Tell us about Sherry. And about Papi Bombar. What do you do at yoga?”

  Yoga, thought Tim, that must be the connection, but so what? Yoga is harmless.

  “Well, we met at Papi Bombar’s,” she started. “Sherry came to study with us.”

  “Yes? Study what? Sex?”

  “No! Of course not. She came to study yoga under Papi Bombar. He likes her. He thinks she’s a good student, but not very much of a woman, so he asked me to help her learn to be more woman, more female.”

  “More female? She looks definitely female to me.”

  “But she’s not very good at it.” She glanced at Tim to catch his reaction. “When she first came she was wearing terrible clothes and her hair was cut so short. She looked like nothing.”

  Alistair looked a question at Tim and he nodded his agreement.

  “You see, now she’s getting better, more sexy. She’s dressing better and growing her hair. Papi Bombar is pleased with her progress.”

  “Has he tried her?” blurted out Tim.

  Alistair held up his hand to stop further questions. “Well, Ranji? Has he?”

  Ranji chuckled. “You know he hasn’t! Papi doesn’t like girls. He teaches us and blesses us, but he sleeps with his novices.”

  “Blesses you? Tell me about that.”

  Ranji could not look at them. “He—he gives one of us his essence every week.”