The Devil's Mistresses Ch. 02

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The rumors are true.
8.2k words
4.41
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7

Part 2 of the 3 part series

Updated 10/17/2022
Created 08/30/2003
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christo
christo
1,327 Followers

For most men, having wild sex with two talented teenage hookers would be a guilty dream come true. But for Roger Travers it was just another day in Thailand, another day sticking his cock in the same orifices over and over and over again. The girls were gorgeous and tireless and normally would have fully occupied Roger's attention, but he had other things on his mind. He couldn't stop thinking about the story he'd hear the day before, about the "devil women", two mysterious prostitutes who could, it was said, drive men insane with pleasure. He'd heard the story from two girls he'd fucked and tortured the day before, girls who had suddenly vanished after revealing their secret.

Even as he was screwing one girl while the other tickled his balls with her nails, Roger's mind was fixated on these fearsome courtesans. He wanted them. He didn't know what they looked like, couldn't imagine what techniques or skills they might possess, but Roger had the money and the ambition to do anything in the world, and right now what he wanted most was to fuck these "devil woman".

It took him a long time to come, and when he finally emptied himself into the vagina of the panting whore lying on his bed he pulled out and shoved them both toward the door. "Thank you, you wild crazy man," the one girl giggled brainlessly. His semen flowed down her thighs and the other girl's lipstick was smeared from giving him head, but from their moronic smiles and chattering you'd think they'd just ridden a merry-go-round. He remembered the two girls who left yesterday, the pain in their traumatized eyes, and how much more satisfying that had been. He shut the door, pulled the silk comforter off the bed, and lay down to sleep.

Fifteen minutes later there was a sudden tapping at his door, soft but insistent. He ignored it. The knocking came again. "Go away!" he snarled. There was a pause of twenty seconds, and then, louder, knock, knock, knock. "I say, go away!" Ten seconds later, knock, knock, knock.

He stormed to the door and nearly ripped it from its hinges. The expletive assault stuck in his throat. Standing before him was a Thai boy, maybe twelve years old, wearing a Limp Bizkit T-shirt, cutoff jeans, and a Yankees baseball cap. He looked up at Roger with insouciant eyes.

"You Travers?" the boy asked.

Roger was caught off guard. This hotel prided itself on its security and discretion and was more than capable of keeping beggars from bothering the guests. But this boy didn't look desperate. He looked impatient. "You want me check your passport? Roger Travers, yes, no?"

"I'm Travers. What do you want?"

"I want you give me fifty thousand dollars, right now. I know you not have money here, you go to bank and bring back. I wait for you here."

Roger stood there, frozen in place. The boy didn't look like he was armed. There didn't seem to be any one else lurking in the hallway. "Why would I give you fifty thousand dollars?"

The boy walked past Roger and pushed the door closed. "Because you talk a lot. You say five-hundred thousand US dollars not much for fucking. My master, he say, let's see if Travers just talk. You give me fifty large, down payment. My master, he check you out. You come out OK, you get what you pay for."

Roger laughed. "You think I'm so stupid I'd give you that much money and hope you don't rip me off?"

The boy flopped on the bed and picked up the phone. "No, my master not think you stupid. He prove he not break promise. You get money first. Tell bank president you want speak to Mr. Chao. When you speak Mr. Chao, give him this." The boy handed Roger a white envelope sealed with wax. "You not open envelope. You do, bad news for you. You give Mr. Chao envelope. Then you see."

The boy pressed a button on the phone. "Room service? Order for suite 122. I want double cheeseburger with mustard, onion rings, and bottle Dom Perignon 1990. Thank you." The boy smiled at Roger. "Year I born, very good champagne."

"They won't deliver it. I have to sign for the food."

The boy stretched out on the king-size bed. "They deliver it for me. How you think I got up here? They know me. They know my master. They not charge you for food." The boy fluffed the pillows and lay back. "Go now! I not want wait all day."

Roger dressed quickly, putting on lightweight khakis and a white linen shirt. He went to the hotel lobby and had the doorman call a cab. He waited under the hotel's broad awning, the oppressive heat and humidity seemed to wrap a sopping blanket around his body. He didn't usually mind the tropical damp, but he shivered a bit as his sweating body cooled itself. This was very odd. He'd seen many odd things during his time in Thailand. He'd done many odd things. Illegal, immoral things. But this was different. This was outside his control.

It excited him.

It was a short drive to the bank where he'd set up his account for this little adventure. Wiring a million dollars into a bank gets you certain privileges, and Roger was escorted into a back room with Mr. Rudi Prangitan, the bank's president. Prangitan was a short, squat man, his considerable weight concentrated around his midriff. His dark eyes seemed to sparkle with joy as he beheld Travers walking the corridor to his office. Travers wondered what those happy eyes looked like when Rudi put the screws on a customer facing bankruptcy and ruin.

"Mr. Travers, so delighted to see you, so happy!" Prangitan squealed with the ardor of a teenage girl meeting her idol. "What can I do for you, anything, you just need to ask and it will be done!"

"Thank you. I need fifty thousand dollars, US, immediately."

"Of course!" Prangitan pressed a number on his phone, spoke a few words of melodic, flowing Thai, and replaced the receiver. "You will have it in your hands within moments, my dear, dear friend. Have you decided to extend your stay in our country? Please tell me you have, it would be so sad to have you leave us just as you began to enjoy all that Thailand has to offer gentlemen such as yourself."

"No, I'm leaving tomorrow. I have a meeting next week to finalize the sale of my company. A formality, but I have to be present in person to sign the documents."

Prangitan lips curled in a sweet, oily smile. "So sad, to give up the firm you spent your life building, bit by bit, into a colossus. Still, from the figures reported in the financial press, how could you resist?" Prangitan licked his lips. "Are the figures...accurate?"

Travers leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "No. They're not even close." Prangitan's grin turned wolfish. The implication in Roger's voice was, no, I'm getting a lot more than the reporters have guessed. Roger was about to move from the realm of the merely rich to the Olympian heights of the fabulously wealthy. And that made him a terribly interesting man in Prangitan's eyes.

"I hope you will be coming back to Thailand soon," he ventured.

Roger knew what Prangitan wanted to know. "Not soon, I don't think. But soon enough that I want to continue the relationship we've started, my friend. I have to say, I've received a level of service here that is sadly lacking in American and European banks."

Prangitan's white teeth showed. "That makes me very happy, to hear you call me friend. Because that is what a banker should be to his customer, a friend."

"Such an important relationship."

"Indeed, sir. Indeed."

The door opened, and a young woman came into the room with a thick manila envelope. "Thank you, my dear," Prangitan said, and the woman smiled nervously and left without turning her back on the two men. He handed the envelope to Roger. "My friend, I must apologize. You needn't have bothered yourself coming here in person. Much as I enjoy seeing you and speaking to you, you need only call me with your requests and I could have a courier deliver the cash."

"I know. But there was something else I needed of you."

Prangitan spread his arms. "Ask, my friend."

Roger swallowed, wondering if he was about to make a fool of himself. "I want to speak to Mr. Chao."

The change in Prangitan's expression was so sudden, and so severe, that Roger thought the man was having a stroke. His left eye twitched, his mouth gaped, an odd gurgling sound came from his throat. Even though the room was air-conditioned Prangitan broke out in a violent sweat. His lips trembled. "Mr. Chao," he whispered.

"Yes." Roger pulled the envelope from his inside pocket. "I want to give him this."

Prangitan reached out for the phone and pressed a button. His hand trembled. "My car, please," he said. He tried to smile, and the effect was so grotesque Roger felt his own stomach flutter. "I will take you to Mr. Chao."

"Is that a problem?"

The smile left Prangitan's face. "No. No problem. No problem."

Prangitan's car was a Cadillac, and the driver looked surprised and insulted when his master said, "I will drive myself." Roger opened the passenger door but was told, "No, Mr. Travers, please, sit in the back. Make yourself comfortable."

Roger relaxed in the Caddy's leather opulence, watching the chaos of downtown Bangkok fade as they drove out into what might be called the suburbs. They drove for well over two hours, into rich, verdant farmland, rice paddies stretching as far as the eye could see. It was beautiful, Roger had never seen anything so intensely green as the young rice shoots rising from the water.

They pulled off the main highway to a road that looked like it had been paved just a few days before. The blacktop was so smooth it felt like the Cadillac rode on rails. Roger noticed that every five hundred yards or so there were platforms about thirty feet in the air topped by small sheds. "What's are those structures for?" he asked as they passed one.

"They are observation posts," Rudi said. His voice took on a frightened, faraway tone. "I am sure there are machine guns pointed at us right now."

"Why?"

Prangitan looked up into the rear view mirror. "You do not know who Mr. Chao is?"

"No."

"Mr. Chao is...you have heard the expression, the power behind the throne?"

"Yes."

"That is Mr. Chao. He knows everything. Owns everything." Rudi paused. "Owns me."

The drove up to a gate guarded by four men in green fatigues who all carried automatic weapons. One held up his hand and Rudi brought the Caddy to a stop. He lowered the window and the guard marched over. The other three, Roger noted, spread out and aimed their weapons at the car. They looked very suspicious and very professional.

The guard slung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled out an Beretta 9mm. 'Identify yourself," he barked.

Rudi's voice wavered. "Prangitan. My password is 2-3-8-9-2."

The guard stepped away, produced a cell phone, and dialed. A minute later he stepped back. "You do not have an appointment."

"I have an important guest. He has a letter of introduction."

The guard spoke into the phone. There was a pause, and then his body stiffened to attention. He nodded, snapped the phone shut, and returned to the car. "Proceed directly to the main residence. Do not deviate, or you will be stopped."

"Thank you," Rudi said. He raised the window and the drove through the opened gate. There were more unusual buildings, low concrete structures with narrow slots. "Pillboxes," Prangitan said. "Heavy machine guns. Anti-tank weapons."

"Mr. Chao has powerful enemies, I take it."

Rudi shrugged. "The United States government, mostly. No one in Asia would take him on directly, not without your government prodding them, giving military support. Nothing has happened for a long time, but Mr. Chao takes few chances."

The car pulled up to a house that looked like it had been dropped by aliens. It was a huge, plantation style house right out of the antebellum South, with broad verandas and brilliant white columns. There wasn't another house within sight. Roger got out of the car and Rudi escorted him inside. The foyer was of veiny red marble, covered by exquisite Oriental carpets. Huge fans set in the high ceilings stirred the air.

A woman entered the foyer, a stunning, striking, fantastically beautiful woman. Her hair hung to her waist, a shimmering curtain of jet-black silk. Her light brown skin was rich and radiant, the creaminess of her complexion absolutely extraordinary. Her smiling lips were full and pillowy, her eyes dark yet warm and serene. She wore a loose magenta sarong that flowed down her slim, elegant body. "Rudi, it is so nice to see you again." She offered him his hand, and Rudi kissed it, his whole body quaking.

He said, "Mala, may I present to you my very good friend from America, Roger Travers."

She held out her hand, but not to be kissed. She shook Roger's hand with a confident grip. "I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Travers."

"The pleasure is all mine. And, please, call me Roger."

She tilted her head, appreciating his tact and politeness. "Please, gentlemen, come with me."

Mala led them up the broad staircase. He watched her hips sway back and forth as she walked. She was slim and graceful, and when she turned and saw him staring at her body she showed no embarrassment or disapproval. She smiled, and he smiled back.

As they curled up the stairs to the second floor Roger noticed the men standing quietly in the shadows, serious men with submachine guns. They didn't make eye contact with Roger as he walked up the stairs, but he knew if he reached into his pocket there would be six gun barrels pointed at his chest.

They walked down another corridor, and Mala stopped. "Rudi, will you wait outside? Thank you." She led Roger into a small room furnished with a pale green sofa and matching chair, both richly upholstered. She closed and locked the door, and said. "I apologize for this affront to your dignity, but I must ask you to remove your clothes."

"What? Why?"

She folded her hands in front of her. "My employer has many enemies, enemies who would like very much to kill him. Many of these enemies are from the US and Europe. Before I take you to your interview I must make sure that you haven't the means to inflict injury. Again, I apologize."

"No need. I understand completely." Roger removed his clothes and tossed them carelessly on the floor. He stood confidently, hands on his hips. She was looking at his penis, which slowly began to thicken. "See? Nothing to hide."

She walked close to him, so close that he could smell the jasmine in her hair. "I must make a close inspection. I fear that I shall have to touch you in intimate places."

He was fully erect now, his penis almost touching the soft material of her sarong. Mala's cool hands drifted all over his body, over his chest, his arms, his back. "A few years ago," she explained as her hands explored him, "one of my employer's closest associates was killed by a man who had a syringe of poison surgically implanted in his hip. The assassin was very fat, and the hypodermic was inserted in an incision made in one of his folds of skin."

"Very ingenious."

"Yes," she said, as she knelt before him and ran her hands from his inner thighs down to his ankles. "It is sad that people will go to so much trouble to hurt others."

"It is." He was desperate for her to touch him, but she showed no interest in the hard flesh sticking up between his legs. She moved behind him and Roger again felt her soft touch. She tenderly frisked his back, his buttocks, and his legs.

"I'm clean?" he asked, trying to keep the lust from his voice.

"I must inconvenience you one last time," she said. She reached into a deep pocket in her sarong and produced a tube of lubricant.

"Is that totally necessary?" Roger asked, knowing what was coming next.

"I'm afraid it is."

Roger spread his legs and waited. He felt Mala move close to him. Her finger gently probed his sphincter. And then Roger looked between his legs and saw her tiny hand snake around his waist and grip his penis. He groaned with ecstasy as delicate fingers circled his cock and slowly pumped. His groans grew even louder where her slippery finger penetrated his rectum. She plunged her finger in and out of him as her hand glided over his penis.

"I don't think you have a weapon concealed in here."

"No," Roger groaned, wanting to laugh but unable to because her hand made him feel too good.

"Mr. Chao informed me that he would not be available when you arrived. He asked me to entertain you until he was ready."

"How much time to we have?"

Mala extracted her finger and released his penis. He turned and watched her unfold the sarong, revealing her magnificent body bit by bit. Her golden skin seemed to glow from within. Her breasts were small yet plump, the dark nipples pointing toward the ceiling. Her buttocks were smooth and taut, her arms and legs toned and lightly muscled. "We have enough."

She guided him to the chair and she knelt between his legs, smoothing her hair away from her face and his groin. She lifted his heavy cock to her mouth and kissed him, kissed him down there again and again, her eyes smiling up at him.

"Have you ever been to America?" he asked.

She shook her head side-to-side, and then her mouth was over him, over his entire length, and when she drew her lips back his shaft glistened.

"You should come back with me," he groaned as she swallowed him whole again. "I would enjoy your company."

She was good. Oh, God, was she good. She gave him head and he could almost feel the semen in his balls bubbling. She stopped and her tongue swirled over his big purple head. "I would love to, but I don't think Mr. Chao would approve."

"Maybe he could be persuaded."

She laughed. "Wait until we are done, and then ask yourself that question again."

He lay back, his legs spread wide, and Mala loved him with her mouth. She burrowed deep into his groin and sucked his nuts into her mouth, jerking his slippery cock with her slender fingers. When she returned his cock to her mouth she looked into his eyes and held him spellbound, her eyes never leaving his. He felt his orgasm gathering within him, ready to burst forth.

"You're one of the most beautiful women I've ever met," Roger said, with more emotion than he expected.

She took his entire length into her warm mouth last time, then slowly drew her head up, her full lips stretched tight by his girth. She stood and kissed him on the lips. "I think it is more important to be beautiful on the inside, than the outside." Roger was about to disagree with her, but then she crawled into his lap and settled herself over his erection. "Let me show you what I mean."

Roger sat on the chair and Mala sat on him and that was how they coupled, his pin buried deep inside her, Mala putting her hands on Roger's shoulders and easing herself up and down his cock. She was wonderfully tight, wonderfully wet, and then Mala showed Roger what she meant about her beauty inside. The muscles of her pussy squeezed and wrung his penis like some sublime vortex. Roger groaned like an bear as her vagina worked him in ways he'd never experienced before.

Roger sucked Mala's dark brown nipples into his mouth and she sighed with delight. She was so lovely, so magical. This was a woman he could see himself loving, imagine her by his side as his wife. She was warm and gentle yet passionate and magnificently skilled. She was far better than any of the girls he'd enjoyed the last 30 days, and that was saying something. She was the greatest fuck of his life.

She seemed to sense his thoughts. "Do I please you as much as the whores you've visited?"

"You please me more than any woman I've ever known."

Her pussy gripped him again, then relaxed. Roger groaned. She kept it up, the clenching and releasing, which, combined with the rhythm of Roger's thrusts, had him moaning like a kid popping his cherry.

christo
christo
1,327 Followers