The language in this story can get quite vulgar towards the end. It is not meant to do anything but titillate readers and the subjects of the story. If you’re turned off by dirty talk or unbridled sex (vs. romance), then this fantasy* missive is not for you. You’d be better moving to another story. This story clocks in with three parts at 7,000 words total but, I promise it is worth the read — if you share my sexual tendencies. (readers who need to fast-forward to the final action should go to part 3.
THE SPA OWNER
It’s my second to last night in Laos, and I’m dying for release. I had been in too many close encounters only to have them foiled. Foiled by my well-meaning but, otherwise clueless cock-blocking brother. I’ll refer to him as “Ben.”
First, there was the Vietnamese Spa owner who was too sexy for her own good and her inattentive husband. She ran the guest house in Xiang Kuang. The same Vietnamese Spa owner who would pour herself into her jeans every morning. She did so with the top of her thong visible when she bent over at the waist to put on her wedge heels.
The same spa owner who had a habit of putting on her make-up in front of us on the front porch. She did that while we drank our coffee and ate those cloying-sweet, greasy Beignets. She knew exactly what she was doing as we stared at her morning ritual. She had a way of tracing her sweet dick-sucking lips with the wand of her lip-gloss. ( I apologize in advance for the crude language, the language center works under duress when the lizard brain is in control. )
She took her time swiping those luscious lips. This lead her to close her mouth around the wand to remove the excess. All I could think of was parting those sweet lips with my cock. As I was in her mouth, my hands would have traced her body. I wanted to unbutton that clinging polo shirt.
A shirt that was accented by lack of a bra made visible by protruding nipples and ample cleavage.
Every day she would ask us if we wanted massages after our day trips. My brother would immediately say, “thank-you but, no thank-you.” It got to the point that after our fifth day she openly asked if we were gay.
He was kidding when he exclaimed, “Yes! We are gay, AND we are brothers. We are gay together!” This did nothing to convince the Spa owner that we weren’t gay.
I wanted to punch my brother for his inability to pick up on unspoken signals. All I was hoping for was a little time with this Vietnamese Asia Carrera look-alike.
I dreamed of being underneath her every morning as she swung her long legs over the Vespa Scooter to run errands and pick up provisions.
I dreamed how good the sensation of first entry was going to be as she lowered her sweet honeypot onto my cock. Her pussy lips would part, allowing me to plunge deep into her hot, soft wetness.
My brother Ben is an idiot. I love the guy. But, there are times when it’s obvious he’s lived a sheltered life.
Our host employed a bevy of young girls from the countryside that lived on the premises. They were well paid by Lao standards. They were afforded free room and board as part of the employee benefits.
My brother Ben reminded me of the time one of our domestics to play doctor with us. I was only nine. It was also my introduction to the remarkable beauty of an exposed nipple. Of course, being nine I had no clue what to do, and in retrospect it was innocent. Had I been older it might have been a life-changing moment.
The girl that worked for my host who reminded me most of that incident was in her early twenties. She exuded a sexiness that is undeniable only because she wore no make-up, always had her hair up in a ponytail and never really smiled.
Instead, her default expression was the union of bedroom eyes and a constant “O” face — as if she was continually climaxing and just needed to be fucked. Maybe it was me projecting on her. OK, it definitely was me projecting on her.
Regardless of the cause of this attraction, it would always wake me up in the morning, when hushed voices could be heard outside the window of my bedroom. These soft voices göztepe escort were foreign to me as I no longer speak the language but, it never ceased to make me hard enough to require intervention.
I imagined her in the shower with me, spooning, as we moved back and forth. Her head nested in the crook of my neck as we were standing, my hardness rubbing between the sweet tight brown cheeks of her ass as water parted around my cock as I entered her from behind.
It got to the point that people noticed I was in the bathroom way too long in the morning. Unfortunately, this fantasy would also go unfulfilled. This was mainly because the opportunity never presented itself but also because it’s not a good idea to fuck your host’s hired help.
This never stopped me from blaming my brother, who befriended the girls and was continually hovering to see what I was doing, eating, who I was talking to, etc. I love him but, my brother Ben is a clueless idiot.
THE FULL BODY MASSEUSE
My older brother “Sonny,” lives in Laos. He entertains a lot of monied clients who often ask him for an introduction into the local “night” life which is scant if you don’t know the town. Laos has strict rules and prohibits any type of pornography, gentlemen’s clubs, and gambling.
But, open to all is a massage. Eschewing the high-end, over-priced spas who only do the deep tissue or table based massages, Sonny introduces Ben, and I do what is called an elbow massage. As the name infers, elbows play a significant role in this type of massage.
The masseuse cycles between eucalyptus oils, the application of hot pads, and forceful manipulation of body limbs and deep tissue massage. To gain leverage for part of this type of massage, it happens on a futon-like mattress on the floor. As we enter, a slight woman who owns the beauty center and “locals only” spa/massage parlor clears out the back room, and we are asked to sit after we have removed our shoes.
Shortly after that two women appear to wash our feet with Epsom salts and baking soda. Ben giggled incessantly saying it tickles. We are then asked to go upstairs, disrobe and wear the equivalent of hospital scrubs made out of cheesecloth. The bottom half has strings on them that remind me of karate pants. The fit is loose and unflattering.
We are asked to relax and wait for our masseuses who join us shortly. Ben’s masseuse is petite and the sexier of the two.
My masseuse in unremarkable, but good-natured with an easy laugh. But her rating rises significantly when her fingers begin to work. Starting with her hands, she works on my shoulders and arms. I’m not tense but, it feels that way, and she makes a comment about it. It turns out I’m trying to suppress a hard-on, and she’s doing her best (indirectly) to cause one.
The oil is spread liberally with her hands working over my ass and around my groin. I kept thinking, “Is this “that” type of massage parlor?” Surely my older brother Sonny would not bring us to a “happy ending” massage parlor – knowing full well what my younger brother Ben is capable of…
My thoughts race against this assumption as my girl’s hands works over my body. Then the massage goes to places, and I’ve never experienced before, I start to question my assumptions. My girl is working my calves, and with each stroke, her hands get closer to my cock. The back of her hands regularly graze my member, and it doesn’t stop when she switches legs. I’m not sure what to do but trying to think pure thoughts only makes things worse. Her hand wraps around my now rigid cock, and she laughs as it creates a tent pole after she turns me over on my back. Whether she meant to or not, she now knew I was turned on.
Pretending to be “asleep” didn’t help as she bent over my body on the floor to work on my calves with her crotch now in my face. I wanted to just lift my head and lick the exposed inner thighs of her legs only covered by white cotton panties, and a traditional Lao skirt hiked up to her waist.
Oh God, let this be true. Let this be precisely what I thought when Sonny said he’d pick up the halkalı escort tab. She then split my legs and went back to work on the thighs. This time she was facing me and making eye contact as I looked down her blouse and took in her exposed breasts. When she switched the hot pads around my groin, it was all I could do to keep from blowing a load all over her now smiling face. Not knowing if it was OK was driving me crazy and giving me the most severe case of blue-balls. When she moved to my arms, her sweet pussy was a mere inch over my right hand. All I had to do was reach up, pull the white cotton panties to the side, and my fingers would be deep inside her, then I could pull her right onto my embarrassing boner, and she could arch her back to have me fully enter that tight, hot, little wetness.
That’s when I heard that dreaded voice with a French lilt, “Are you OK?” I pretended to be sleeping. “Are you sleeping?” – I reply, “You’re supposed to be quiet and not fuck up the zen silence during a massage you idiot.” My brother Ben laughs thinking this was said in jest. He then proceeded to kick me saying, “Can you feel this?” It was all I could do to stop from knocking his block off. He then proceeded to pull apart the curtains that separated our massage rooms saying it would be roomier and allow us to talk. Ben then started to speak Lao and engage both masseuses in stories about our life, our family, our genealogy and other unrelated miscellanies. The bright light that was my “happy ending” began to dim then extinguish. I love him but, my brother is a talkative idiot.
THE SECOND WIVES
On Ben’s second to last night in town, Sonny decides we really need to see the side of Vientiane nightlife that the “falung,” the locals’ word for white foreigners, rarely see. If you read TravelAdvisor’s reviews of Vientiane, most users say its a sleepy town with not much to offer tourists, and you should spend no more than a day in the city before moving your itinerary forward ASAP and head for Viang Veng or Luang Prabang. In reality that’s how Vientiane locals and government officials like it. They want the capital of the country treated as such. Take your tubing excursions, drunken “falung,” spas and tourist trap endeavors elsewhere.
However, no major city that services so many local and foreign diplomats, dignitaries and politicians can exist without the ability to really “service” said individuals.
The evening starts out quiet but engrossing with great food, live music, karaoke and a dance club on the perimeter at MarkTwo – a trendy hotspot for Laos’ young elite. Sons and daughters of top officials, entrepreneurs,, and the country’s movers and shakers routinely frequent the establishment.
Placed purposely off the main thoroughfares — unless you know it’s there you’d never happen on it accidentally. The MarkTwo is not the highlight of the evening, just the precursor. Moments after dinner is done we are whisked away in the Mercedes C class sedan to a Night Club which is a direct extension of a marquee hotel.
When we walk in, the place is populated by couples old enough to be my parents and a large group of older women dancing with each other. The music is old traditional Lao standards being pumped out by what appears to be an off-duty waiter. He’s tickling the faux ivories of a Korg synthesizer accompanied by the resident busboy on electric guitar. Wave after wave of boring beauties dressed in traditional Lao skirts goes onstage to belt out uninspired covers of 70s and 80s pop tunes.
Sonny, my older brother, informs me this is where women of a certain mindset come to “grab” money from rich men. That’s a direct translation.
I assume he means “gold-digger.” More exactly, it referred to the desired position of “second-wife.” A second wife has all the financial benefits but, none of the duties of a traditional wife. Mainly these women were vying for the job of mistress. Their only walking orders; know how to have a good time, give a good time and know how-to to fuck. I think we’re here just to people watch. After we are set up with bottle service consisting haramidere escort of Beer Lao, Johnny Walker Black Label, miscellaneous colas, and soda water we are surprised by Sonny who had been actively recruiting female companions.
There is a bevy of hot women that outnumber us two to one. All except one are dressed in micro-mini dresses, micro-mini skirts or skirts with slits that must give easy access to their sweet’ hidden gardens of Eden. These girls knew they were here to suck and fuck. (There goes the lizard brain)
Seen through the haze of aching blue-balls they included:
VIENG, a Thai /Vietnamese woman who was every bit the party girl I thought she was. More than once, after moving her hand down my thigh, she cupped my balls. Dressed in five-inch come-fuck-me heels, a light pink micro-mini dress that showed ample cleavage — she was a sight to behold. Especially when she sat down since the dress rode up and barely covered her most fuckable snatch. She often sat with her legs together or crossed which offered an exclusive peek at her barely-there panties. Vieng was shopping for the “second wife” title as if her very life depended on it.
When Vieng noticed that I was casually watching her as she sucked on one of the cylindrical ice cubes supplied as part of the bottle service – she put a finger in the center hole. Without breaking eye contact, she then proceeded to perform fellatio on the cube. Mesmerized, I grew harder with every stroke of the ice cube.
I was putty in her hands as I imagined her mouth around my cock and the engorged purple head sliding deeper and deeper down her throat with every thrust of her ice-cube laced finger.
Later on, in a scotch-induced moment of bravado, I am surprised when I take the liberty of placing my hand on HER thigh and cupping her crotch and finding that it was smooth and shaved. My hand is promptly removed, and she has a look of disgust on her face. Apparently, I overstepped bounds and protocol by taking her out of the equation and making moves myself. “Jesus, I needed to fuck,” I whispered under my breath.
My case of blue balls was starting to kill me. Vieng proceeded to distance herself for a reasonable period before returning into my eye-line and dancing suggestively for my entertainment. By that time I was working on option two.
DEVON. I didn’t catch the name of the youngest woman there, but she looked every bit the part of my Fast & Furious wet-dream, Devon Aoki. Dressed in a reinterpretation of a traditional Lao costume, “Devon” replaced the demure top with a sleeveless off the shoulder bandolier that accented her small but perky breasts. She only smiled once, but that was OK with me since I preferred her pouty “I’m bored” face. A face so sexy it just begged to be covered in cum. After courting Vieng for almost an hour, it was all I could do to stop myself from throwing Devon on the floor, right then and there, widening the slit in her long skirt so that my cock could swim in between the paradise underneath.
I was again at a disadvantage with the language barrier as the ladies navigated around me after I ran out of pictures on the iPhone. The Jibbigo app (a pretty decent app for offline translation) failed to translate anything useful or helpful in this context. Later, I learn Ben had been playing wingman on my behalf. It would have been better if he had skipped this evening since his wingmanship left a lot to be desired. Shortly after he engages “Devon,” her “I’m bored” face turns sour. Turns out he’s been asking her stupid questions like, “Why aren’t you in school?” My brother is a clueless, cock-blocking idiot.
Of course, I’m unsure why I’m working so hard on these girls since it was very likely that I wouldn’t be around enough to function as the husband to these potential “second-wives.”
Later on, Sonny explains to me that though they may be shopping around for the Mrs. Second-Wife situation, the girls were also available for a small fee, excluding room costs and exclusive suites were available for an hour or night above the night club.
WTF? Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? Too late, we learn this information as we are headed home. In the end, the clubs lights and Vientiane’s midnight shut-down time puts the real kaibosh on the whole deal.
Not to worry, in the very end, after my “idiot” brother leaves the country, Sonny has a surprise for me that makes up for all the failed launches.
Continued in Part 2