Pursuing Douglas Ames

"Eighteen."

"And he bound you in sex and inflicted a bit of pain?"

"Yes."

"And sometimes he wore leather gloves?"

"Yes."

"And that gave you an extra surge of pleasure?"

I didn't answer that, but, in not answering, he got the one he sought.

"And it gives you a surge of pleasure just to talk about it to a man like me."

He didn't say it in a form of a question, so I didn't feel compelled to answer. He was stripping me bare, though. He didn't wait for an answer. He fancied he had me figured out in terms of sexual interests. I couldn't say he was wrong. I was here speaking with him. That was proof enough of what I took sexual pleasure in. I had gone hard, of course.

"You have gone freely with men since then?"

"Yes. By choice, not for pay."

"I wish to pay for it, and I pay well. It gives me license to take it to the edge of testing, and I enjoy bringing passion out of whores."

"I've said I'm not a whore."

"I want you to be a whore for me, and I'll pay well for the privilege."

I shivered. I didn't know how he knew it, but I went into higher realms of satisfaction with testing and cruelty. The Frenchman had fisted me across the Indian Ocean, and I had stayed with him in preference to other offers. He had brought passion out of me with his fist, holding it in there, letting it pulse and his fingers flex as I lay captive to him, on the edge of splitting. I hadn't experienced the rolling orgasm Claude ripped from me with his fist since my time with Douglas Ames.

Claude had worn black leather gloves when he fisted me.

Sensing that I was weakening to him, Nakamura continued. "You are a handsome young man--the Burmese-English mix is quite exotic, extremely arousing. It has gotten my juices going. Shall we say a hundred pounds then? More than the price of a good prostitute. The price of a courtesan willing to serve special needs." The tenth ten-pound note found its way on the top of the pile. I looked at it and then up into his face, with its serene, slightly cruel, self-confident visage.

"I assure you I'm quite good--if a little extreme in my tastes," he said. "I will dominate you. You will be totally used. I will lift you to new levels of passion." The eleventh ten-pound note dropped.

"I will wear these gloves."

I watched him carefully take the glove off his right hand. He reached over and ran his fingers down my forearm. When he reached the wrist, he dug his fingernails into my flesh. I winced, but he could see my eyes flash as well. He laughed and took his hand away. Then he quite carefully pulled the glove back on.

It wasn't just the cruel sex that was being offered, and the money meant nothing to me at all beyond the little extra thrill it would provide of playing the prostitute. Nakamura clearly was a dangerous man, and it was quite evident now that he wasn't in Burma to open trade. He was here to scout the country for vulnerabilities to Japanese attack and occupation. And he was here to indulge in sexual release he could not as easily obtain in Tokyo. I had roles to perform here in Burma beyond writing--or fucking. It would be advantageous to keep close to Nakamura when possible. You can't be any closer to a man than when he has your wrists bound and his cock--or his fist--inside you.

"If you wish," I answered, lowering my eyes to see only the top of the table and the pile of banknotes. It was an act of surrender well known to dominants and submissives alike. That last--being dominated, commanded, and totally used by a military man--had pushed me over the edge.

Nakamura reached over and took my right hand in his gloved hand. It was a declaration and, when I didn't take my hand away, acquiescence. He had outlasted me in the war of nerves and temptation.

* * * *

I had no trouble finding Nakamura's room after I'd gone back to mine, hidden the hundred and ten pounds he'd given me, and bathed and prepared myself. I wore just baggy white cotton trousers with a white cotton tunic over it and sandals on my bare feet when I went to his room. I figured I wouldn't be clothed for very long. I felt both frightened and tingly all over as I anticipated answering Nakamura's call. It was the same delicious way I'd felt when I answered Douglas Ames's calls when I knew he would be rough with me. Ames had programmed me for this.

When I got to the corridor Nakamura's room was on at The Strand, I could clearly see that one of his guards was standing attention at the door. I wondered where the other one was, but then I figured that the general--excuse me, the exporter--had round-the-clock protection so the other soldier was probably taking his turn in the sack--while I took a turn in Nakamura's sack. I gave a little shiver at the thought of the adventure that was to come. I'd never been fucked by a Japanese before. I wondered how well they generally were equipped. To tell the truth, though, I was concentrating on what would be inside me before his cock.

The soldier stood at attention until I reached the door and then he put an arm out and opened the door for me. The expression on his face--what he revealed before the thin veneer of total neutrality--indicated he knew what I would endure in that room and that he too was part of that fetish.

Nakamura was sitting, presumably cross-legged, in the center of a large bed. He was swathed in a billow of kimono in various shades of blue. The pattern was one of stylized ocean waves in a pattern that was both modern and from time eternal. There was no doubt the material was expensive. He was completely covered saved for an upcurved erection that parted the folds of the kimono at his crotch. He was long and thick--and a dark brown, with a purplish exposed mushroom cap. That was going to be put inside me. I shivered in anticipation.

He was encasing the root of the shaft with one of his gloved hands and slow stroking himself. I still didn't know how well Japanese men generally were equipped, but this one was hung. I also was able to see the Japanese in the man now--exotic and arousing; something new for me. I was lost to lying down for him and giving him whatever he wanted.

"Disrobe, please," he said as his guard shut the door behind me, remaining on the corridor side. I did so; it didn't take very long. "You are a beautiful young man," he murmured, his English so precise that he must not be a native English speaker. I wondered if he thought in Japanese or German. I could tell that he thought in cruel, though.

"Turn for me." I did. "Bend over and pull the cheeks apart. Show me what I have to work with." I did that. "Come service me." I did that too, coming over to the bed, sitting at the foot of it, and leaning over and taking his cock in my mouth. He grasped the back of my neck with a hand of steel, holding me in place as I sucked him. The bulb was plump and spongy. He gave a little jerk as I tongued the urethra opening and pressed the tip of my tongue in. He forced the shaft deeper inside, though, not permitting me to give the attention to the sensitive glans that I usually gave. He held me there in that grip, slowly rocking his pelvis to move his shaft in my throat, for several minutes until he had come for the first time. If I had thought that, because of his age, that would be all there was to it, I would have been terribly mistaken.

I trembled at the feel of the black leather of his gloved hands on my cheeks as he manipulated my head.

I liked that there was no pretense or seduction involved. So, this is how a prostitute faces it, I thought. He had said he would take me like a whore. That was arousing to me. I already was as hard as he was while I was sucking him off.

After coming and while he was recovering, he ran his gloved hands over my body, exploring every mound and crevice until I was moaning and begging for him to fuck me. He only took that for a signal to begin his cruel games, though. While he was fondling and manipulating my body, all the time still swathed in his blue kimono and me completely naked, he moved me to where I was on my back, my buttocks in his lap and my arms raised over my head, my hands gripping the rails of the headboard while his gloved fingers, greased with a scented lubricant, played in my ass, opening me up and stretching me. He was in to the knuckles and I was groaning, thinking he was going to fist me, which was not something I hadn't had happen before, although not for a long time, when he leaned over me, brought leather restraints out from underneath a pillow at the top of the bed and secured my wrists there. He came out from underneath me then, but only briefly as he secured my ankles to leads to the edges of the footboard. I was completely under his control and at his mercy then.

When he came back onto the bed, he was carrying a thick ivory dildo, in the shape of a well-endowed cock but with a bulge half way down it. I whimpered as he greased the dildo up and then, when he'd moved back under me, with my buttocks in his lap, I cried out as he penetrated and fucked me with the dildo. He stroked my cock with his free hand, and he continued with this until, my having gotten into the taking, I dug my heels into the mattress, elevated my pelvis, and rocked against the rhythm of the dildo fuck. There was no hint given that I wasn't fully surrendering to this.

He moved, at last, to the fisting from there, slowly opening me up with the gloved fingers of his right hand until I felt the pop of his knuckles breaching my sphincter muscle. He took his time sinking in to the wrist and then I was writhing in his strong embrace as he fucked me with the gloved hand. I gave a little cry and shot my load.

If I then thought that was all he would do, I was wrong. He didn't release me. He pulled his hand out and came out from underneath me again. But he was gone for only a few minutes, returning with a leather box. When Nakamura, back in place under me with my buttocks in his lap, opened the box, I saw that it contained metal sounding wands inserted in grooves in a silky material. I knew what a sounding wand was. It originally was meant for medical purposes to open the urethra channel of a male penis to clear obstructions. Men like Nakamura, though, had taken the sounding wand over to use for sexual torture and stimulation. They twirled various thicknesses and lengths of the wands into their own or someone else's urethra channel for the pain-pleasure of an exotic form of masturbation or fucking.

I started to hyperventilate. It wasn't all about being sounded. I'd tried that before. And it wasn't about being scared Nakamura didn't know how to do it without causing damage. He exhibited as a professional in sexual torture. It was everything together: his intensity, his detachment, his military bearing--and the setting, being in a remote, exotic country, bound, and entirely at his mercy. And it was about me and what aroused me, as well. It was a growing fear and delicious anticipation of what he could move on from here to do without anyone to stop him.

With me, hyperventilation could be a form of sexual anticipation, satisfaction, and release. Here, now, with this Japanese sadist, it was all of that.

I shuddered and trembled and moaned as he admonished me and, holding me fast draped across his lap, his kimono flared open now, and I pressed into his hard-bodied gauntness, slowly twirled the first, the smallest, metal wand into my piss slit and deep into my urethra canal. "Relax," he murmured. "Don't fight it. You'll regret it if you do."

He wasn't just twirling the wand in place. He was slowing fucking my cock canal with it and being rewarded with deep groans and murmurs of "Shit. Fuck. Oh, shit," from me.

There was no question that I was fully under his control. I panted hard, moaning and crying out more loudly, "Shit, fuck, FUCCK!"

Regardless, I held steady, doing what I could to relax. I had been here before. I groaned as the wand came out, only to be replaced by the next thickest and longest one--and then the next after that. I totally collapsed in his embrace, laid out, open and vulnerable to his wishes, his desires. His lips captured mine, backing off only at the exchange of a wand for the next larger one. He was possessing me fully, scaring the shit out of me. It was delicious. I didn't know if I could endure it. I dare not scream. I'm sure the only one who would respond would be Nakamura's own man outside the door. And I had every reason to believe that the man standing guard in the corridor had endured all of this with Nakamura himself--and that it made him worship the man. That was the real danger here--that I would become a willing slave to this man as I once had become to Douglas Ames.

Nakamura was panting too--and groaning. At some point he could take no more and the last of the ever-thicker wands came out; he set it aside; and he moved between my spread thighs, grasped, separated, and lifted my buttocks to give him good access; thrust inside me; and fucked the hell out of me to his ejaculation.

"Yes, yes, YES!" I cried out, finally having won the man's cock. He fucked me deep and masterfully in my soft core. I was on the cusp of being his slave forever.

I had already shot a load, burbling up the cum of an ejaculation as he was extracting the last of the sounding wands.

After he came, he remained there, clutching me and panting, looking intensely into my eyes, until he had calmed down. He got out from underneath me then and went back to the suitcase that had produced the ivory dildo and sounding case. He pulled out a hand whip, with leather thongs tipped by metal. He came back to the bed and lightly dragged the thongs over my bare chest and thighs. He gave a little snap of the whip on my cock and balls and I jerked and yelped.

"This would be a good time, I think," he said, "for you to tell me in more depth what your mission is here in Burma. You are, are you not, an agent of your country's new military spy group. What's the name?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I responded through ragged gasps. "I don't know anything about a spy group. I'm here as a journalist to cover stories."

He flicked my cock and balls again and I lurched, straining at the bonds that had me spread-eagled on my back, and yelped again.

"We have time," Nakamura said with a smile. "I have to relieve myself. I see that there might be a bit of work ahead of us tonight. Don't go away." He laughed again, went into the adjoining bathroom, and closed the door.

Almost immediately another door across the room from there opened. I had taken glancing notice of the door in a scan of the room before. If I'd thought about it, I would have thought it was some sort of closet. There was a standing wardroom right beside the door, putting it into the shadows, however, so there was no need for a closet. It didn't lead to a closet. It led to the adjacent hotel room.

Soe Pyne was standing in the doorway. He held a knife in his hand. He put a finger of his other hand to his lips to tell me to be silent and then he stole into the room, cut my bonds, helped me gather up my clothes from the floor in front of the door to the corridor, and guided me into the adjacent room. He shut and locked the door from the adjacent room side, and while I quickly pulled my trousers, tunic, and sandals on, he showed me a French window leading out onto a balcony.

By the time Nakamura returned to his room to restart the interrogation that had surprised the hell out of me, Soe Pyne and I were on the ground outside the hotel and he was leading me to a pedicab that would take us deep into the backstreets of Rangoon to a house of safety. I must admit that he had to push me along. I was still lethargic and floating on the clouds of sexual use, abuse, and satisfaction and therefore was as much reluctant as confused on how, where, and whether to move. He'd thought of everything, however, and took advantage of my submissiveness to move me. My suitcase was packed and waiting for me in the pedicab.

So lethargic and key up was I that, in the pedicab, as I reclined in the corner, I did nothing but sigh and grip Soe Pyne's shoulder blades as, with him murmuring how arousing listening at the hotel room door had made him that he couldn't help himself here, he hovered over me and fondled me. I made no effort at resistance as he drew the cotton trousers off my legs, unbuttoned and released himself, and mounted and penetrated me. The pedicab had reached its destination and was sitting there, rocking on its springs from the rhythm of the fuck until Soe Pyne achieved his ejaculation inside me.

Chapter Two: Pagan

We were out before dawn and at the small Rangoon airport to fly to the even smaller airstrip in Pagan, the ancient capital of an empire in the ninth through the thirteenth centuries on the left bank of the Irrawaddy River and now the home of a thousand ancient temple ruins. It was here, the last I knew, that Douglas Ames had retreated to paint. Our plane was a twin-engine, eighteen passenger Boeing 247, which made the round trip twice a day. We took the early morning flight, because Soe Pyne was distressed by what had happened with General Nakamura and the man's supposition of why I was in Burma, which I knew was more than just a supposition, and he wanted to slip out of Rangoon as quickly and quietly as possible.

I think Soe Pyne was also distressed by what he hadn't kept himself from doing after rescuing me from Nakamura's clutches. I don't know how long Soe Pyne had been listening at the door or why he didn't try to save me earlier, but I certainly found out what effect my encounter with the Japanese general had had on him. The morning after he moved around well away from me as if he wanted to erase what he'd done in the pedicab altogether. While he was doing it, I was so high on lust that I didn't care who did it as long as the taking and receiving kept rolling along. Signaling my acceptance of him, I had clutched his hips with my knees and rocked with him in the fuck. I had expected it to continue when we went into the safe house, but it didn't. He showed me a small bedroom and left me alone there.

Ames was not at the airstrip to meet us in Pagan, which both Soe Pyne and I had expected him to be, but there were pedicabs there to meet the morning flight, and we took two for the trip into the field of temples to a hillside cottage where, I was told, Ames spent most of his year. He wasn't there now, though.

"He's gone up to Mandalay where he also keeps a house," Soe Pyne told me after consulting with Ames's two young houseboys. "He says the atmospherics weren't right to meet with you here. There won't be a plane going up there for several days, so we will take a riverboat in the morning. It's only ninety miles up to Mandalay from here. Meanwhile, make yourself comfortable. If there's anything you want--anything--just ask the houseboys, Maung Wai and Thaik Nu. They are both eighteen and very accommodating."

He gave me a meaningful look when he said this, and I blushed. I no longer wondered what Douglas Ames had told him about our relationship and my resultant fetish, which matched Ames's--a desire to lie with eighteen-year-old boys, the age I was when Ames took my virginity and whipped me into shape--literally. Both of the houseboys were beautiful young men, and I had little doubt how Ames used them--or what license I was being given to use them as well.

Of course, I wouldn't succumb to my instincts, though. I would resist, as I'd been able to do in England for years since I had visited Ames during my early university days at his country estate and covered his eighteen-year-old stable boys just as he was doing--and handling them roughly just as he was doing and as he done with me.

"I am exhausted from last evening's escapades even if you aren't," Soe Pyne said, the closest he came to criticizing my willingness to put myself into a compromising position with Nakamura, "but I will give you a short walking tour of the temples in the immediate vicinity and then come back to the cottage for a rest while you further explore. Although it doesn't seem so, we are very close to the main road from the airstrip to the town center."