The Thai Maid Ch. 01byvictoria.vixen©
"Miss have pink asshole."
A voice giggles.
Again, "Miss have pink asshole."
I'm groggy and confused, waking from what feels like a very deep sleep. I blink my eyes: where am I? I move my hand to brush my hair out of my face -- but I can't move my hand...
As I wake up, I find I am restrained, face down on my four poster bed. My hands are pulled down between my legs and tied to my ankles, my legs are pulled up under my body, my face is in a pillow and my bottom is in the air. I am naked, hog tied, and dizzy. Behind me, I hear the voice of my Thai maid, Bee, laughing, "Miss have pink asshole," and she swats my bottom.
How did I get here?
Last year my boyfriend and I moved to Bangkok; he works for one of those big corporations you've all heard of, and I decided to move with him for the fun of it. Thailand is a beautiful country. The food is delicious, the cost of living is cheap, and the people are lovely.
Not long after moving to Bangkok my boyfriend, let's call him X, hired a Thai maid named Bee. She is a beauty: petite curvy body, long black hair, full lips, and large dark eyes you could lose yourself in.
Ladies, you should know right now: Bangkok is a wrecker of relationships and marriages. Thai girls go crazy for "farang" (foreign) men. Whether out of genuine attraction, or whether they assume all foreigners are rich, I don't honestly know. I knew Bee could be trouble from the moment I laid eyes on her, but she was sweet natured and shy -- she spoke very little English -- and since my boyfriend was paying the bills I let him pick the help.
Bee was a live-in maid who worked Monday through Saturday, and took Sundays off. She cooked, cleaned, and kept the household running. If you've ever been to a Thai house and wondered what the unmarked door is near an apartment's front door, it's the maid's room: basic and small, but clean and comfortable with its own entrance to our apartment (through the kitchen). This is where Bee lived.
X loved to have her wear a French maid's outfit while she worked -- a Thai maid in a French outfit, complete with black pumps. Men are so obvious. X spoke Thai well for his business (I had not bothered to learn more than a few words) and I assumed that they talked. Sometimes I suspected X was sleeping with Bee, but when would he have the opportunity? I was around during the day while he was at work.
One Saturday morning I woke up late and came to the sun room for breakfast. X was reading the paper, drinking his coffee, and grinning broadly. Where was Bee? Why was X smiling? And whose feet were sticking out from underneath the breakfast table?!? As I came closer, I could hear the clear sounds of Bee sucking X from under the table.
Play it cool, I thought, and sat down across the table from X. "Good morning," he said.
Before we go any further, and before you discard this story in disbelief, you should understand something about X: he is one of those very wealthy, very handsome men who is used to having his way with business and with women. He is usually faithful to me, but sometimes he pulls stunts to remind me that we are not married and that I have little claim to him. I've never believed men are inherently monogamous, and as long as I don't rise to his bait these incidents are best forgotten as childish outbursts.
Back to the story: I drank my coffee, read part of the paper, and permitted myself to peak under the table only once. I could see the back of Bee's head bobbing up and down in X's lap. Even more intriguing though was her bottom. Bunched up as she was under the table, the short maid's dress was not enough to cover her modesty, and a black thong clove the twin halves of a quivering peach.
Her ass was breathtaking. While I consider myself straight, I am capable of appreciating beautiful women, and here was a bottom worth appreciating! I half considered reaching under the table to stroke Bee's bum, but X grunted and grabbed the back of her head. He was clearly finished, and she swallowed him without noise or complaint. After a moment, she stood up from under the table, smoothed her dress, and wiped her lips. "Good morning Miss," she said as she cleared the breakfast dishes. She went to make freshly squeezed orange juice, as she does every morning to finish breakfast.
As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, X leaned across the table and kissed my forehead. "So," he said, "I'm going away on business for a few days. Let's spend the day in bed."
We did, and he reminded me why I turn a blind eye to his occasional indiscretions: he fucks me so hard and so well. As I sucked him off one last time before going to bed, I couldn't help wonder about Bee's mouth: was it as soft as mine? Could she suck him as well as I could? Is that all she had done for him?
Sunday morning X caught a taxi for his trip, and I resolved to remind Bee of her place. Let's be clear: it's one thing to let a boyfriend have his fun from time to time, but you simply must establish that the other woman will always be the outside party, a subservient second. That afternoon, I went to Patpong, Bangkok's night-life district.
Patpong is a crowded strip packed with dancers, hucksters, and prostitutes. The sights and smells are pungent, and as you walk the sidewalks you can't help but peek into the open doors of the strip clubs and shops. If that's not enough, touts constantly approach farangs, men and women alike, with pamphlets composed of broken Thai English listing the acts performed behind closed doors -- my favorites being "pussy smoke cigarette" (which I have had the pleasure to witness) and "pussy shoot ping pong ball" (which, sadly, I have not). Anything under the sun related to sex can be found in Patpong, and I discretely slipped into a sex toy shop to buy a toy for my dear, tiny Bee and her naughty round bottom.
At breakfast the next morning, I set a shiny new silicone butt plug on the table. Bee was a few minutes late preparing breakfast and didn't notice the plug right away, but when she did her eyes widened a bit and she blushed.
"Bee," I said, "please bring me a stick of butter."
Bee knew this was unusual; I seldom take butter or bread with breakfast, preferring instead to eat the local fruits to keep my figure. Smiling and giggling, she retrieved a stick of butter from the refrigerator and placed it on a dish on the table.
Reader, have you ever met a young Thai woman? Smiling, laughing, and blushing can just as often signal discomfort or embarrassment as happiness, and Bee, like many women from her culture, can be very hard to read. I have no idea if she knew what I had in mind for her, but I slowly finished breakfast, letting the butter soften in the heat, and asked her to clear the table.
She removed the dishes and my glass, but when she started to remove the dish of butter I touched her hand quickly and said "No Bee, leave that." I touched the butt plug. "Do you know what this is Bee?"
"Miss?" she said, and blushed.
"Do you know what this is," I asked her again, a bit more forcefully.
"Plug, Miss," she whispered, and looked away.
"And what does it plug, Bee?" I asked.
She mumbled something I couldn't hear, and so I asked her again. This time, she looked me in the eye and said, "Asshole, Miss." It's a funny thing about young Thai women: even if they don't speak much English they know all of the roughest words for the body parts.
"For whose bottom, Bee?" I asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. "Don't know Miss."
I pushed my chair away from the table. "Sit on my lap and I'll tell you, Bee."
She sat down and I gently touched her face with my hands, her rounded hips pressing into my thighs. I looked her in the eye and on impulse, I kisser her deeply. Bee was not the first woman I have kissed, but her lips were by far the softest. Her mouth was so yielding, so moist, and she moaned a bit. I whispered in her ear, "The plug is for you Bee. Now stand up and turn around."
"Yes Miss," she said. She stood, expressionless, and faced away from me.
"Lean across the table Bee," I said, "but keep your feet on the ground." As she leaned over the table her short maid's dress rode up over her cheeks, and for the second time I was simply stymied by the beauty of her bottom. The thong was so narrow that it didn't entirely cover her anus; I could just make out the radial crinkles peeking around the edges of the fabric. I pulled her thong down over the round cheeks to her ankles and she whimpered a bit.
"Hand me the butter, Bee," I said, and she passed the dish of butter back to me. Many years before, X had put me through a similar scene with a set of beads to introduce me to the delights of butter and I intended to pay it forward.
I took the butter in one hand, and spread her cheeks with the other. Bee didn't squeeze her cheeks together tightly, but she didn't relax or open them for me either. I rubbed the stick of butter first up and down the crack of her bottom, and then in small circles around her most secret and shameful spot, greasing it for the plug. I paused for a moment in surprise: Bee had a light brown anus, beautiful and puckered, hairless and tight, just two shades darker than her skin. I don't know why I was taken aback; I guess I thought everyone's anus was pink like mine. Bee was motionless, and made no sound.
"Now hand me the plug Bee," and she did. I rubbed the tip of the plug between her legs and brought it to my lips to see if she were wet. She was -- but only just a bit.
And now I must make a confession to the reader, even though it brings me some shame: I didn't care very much whether she was wet or not. Looking back on it, there's no way I can say that Bee consented to what I did next -- she knew that at any time I could have her fired. But at the time I was annoyed at her for sucking off my boyfriend while living under our roof, and equally entranced by her exquisite bottom. I am embarrassed to tell this story as a white woman invading an innocent and powerless brown rosebud, but that it precisely what I did:
I took the tip of the plug and held it against her lubricated anus. I said, "Ask for it Bee."
She said, "Miss."
That was all she could muster, not "No Miss," not "Please Miss," and certainly not "Plug me Miss." But that was enough for me: "Miss."
With that, I pushed the tip of the plug past her anus and with one slow, firm motion pressed the entire plug into her bottom. She made no sound, but winced slightly only when the thickest part of the plug pushed past her ring before seating itself between her cheeks.
"You like it don't you Bee," I said. "Sluts like it up the ass."
"Stay there, Bee, and don't move," I said. I stepped out of the room, and returned a minute later with our old-fashioned polaroid camera. X and I sometimes liked to take pictures of each other when we made love, and always used the polaroid for fear that digital pictures would turn up on the internet.
I stood in front of the table and took a picture of Bee's face, flat and angry, staring at the camera. I stuck the picture to the refrigerator, put the camera down, and walked around behind Bee again.
I touched her between her legs with my finger this time, and she was still a bit wet, but just barely. I took a moment to appreciate the site: beautiful Bee, bent over the table, thong at her ankles, dress pushed up her back, and a plug planted firmly between her glorious cheeks. "Stand up Bee, and pull up your panties," I said.
She did, and I could see that her face was red and her eyes were moist, although she was not yet crying. The scene had not played out exactly as I had imagined it and I felt a bit cruel. Still, I pressed ahead. "You may continue with your duties Bee."
As she did each morning after breakfast, she squeezed several oranges and brought me a glass of fresh juice. Her usual graceful gait was altered by the plug in her bottom.
As I drank the juice, I said, "I will remove the plug for you when you've finished cleaning the kitchen Bee."
"Yes Miss," she said. She nodded her head, and walked away, the plug a hidden reminder of my attempted dominance.
When the kitchen was clean, Bee sullenly presented herself by turning around and bending over. I pushed her thong aside and gently pulled out the plug.
"While X is out of town, please see to it that the plug and a stick of butter are sitting on the table each morning when I come to breakfast. That will be all," I said, and handed her the plug.
I felt a bit embarrassed, and gave Bee the afternoon off.
That night I tossed and turned and had trouble sleeping. As I lay in bed alone and touched myself, I thought of the morning's events. Even with Bee's astonishing beauty, the scene felt more clinical than sexy. For all the pleasure Bee had taken from it, she might as well have visited the proctologist. I had taken her body, but not her spirit, and I resolved to make things sexier tomorrow, or at least have more fun trying.
The next morning, Bee was a few minutes early for breakfast, and seemed in a much better mood.
"Good morning Miss," she said, and even smiled. The butt plug and the dish of butter were on the table next to my breakfast, and when she noticed me eyeing them she blushed and giggled.
She seemed anxious for me to hurry up with breakfast, and as soon as she had cleared the dishes she bent over the table without my even asking. Quickly, she pulled up her dress and pulled down her thong, her sweet bottom laid bare for the taking.
"My God," I thought, "maybe she really did enjoy herself yesterday and was ashamed to admit it." I pushed away yesterday's concerns about Bee as politically-correct worrying, and told Bee to hand the butter to me.
She did, and after doing so she placed her hands on her cheeks and spread them for me! God, I was almost delirious with excitement. I caught my breath, and said "Wider Bee."
She moaned and said, "Yes Miss."
Spreading her cheeks as widely as she comfortably could, she exposed her pussy and anus to the light and the air and my horny, horny eyes. I took a moment to look at her again: she was so clean.
The fleshy halves of her peach were pulled apart by her slender fingers, and her skin was light and free of blemishes. A small patch of hair at the top of her sex was the only hair she had below her waist. Bee had one of those beautiful self-contained pussies with tight lips and a clit that wasn't too hidden. The crack of her cheeks from the small of her back and the slit of her sex were like two intersecting lines that met in a bull's eye at her anus.
Her hygiene was so good, she smelled so fresh, and she was so turned on that I couldn't help myself: for the first time in my life I leaned forward and placed a brief, light kiss squarely on another woman's anus. As beautiful and sweet as her pucker was, I kissed it lightly but could not muster the courage to push my tongue past her rim. She pushed back to meet my face, and I briefly thought If I'm dominating her, she should be kissing my ass...
I pulled my face away and when I drew a circle around her anus with the tip of the butter, she again pushed herself back to meet my hand. And this time -- this time I could smell her sex intensely. I leaned forward again and lightly traced my tongue along the length of her pussy, stopping at the top to press my lips to her clit as she moaned. After a moment, I said, "Hand the plug to me, Bee."
She did, and I felt a tingle between my legs as I said, "Ask for it Bee."
"Please, Miss," Bee whimpered.
"Please what Bee?"
"Please Miss, plug my asshole, plug my -- oh!" she stopped short and gasped as I pushed the tip of the plug past her ring. As with the day before, I did not hesitate. With gentle but steady force I pushed the plug up her ass, and stroked her pussy with my free hand. She pressed herself back onto the plug and with a silent pop it planted itself firmly between her cheeks. She squirmed, and I pumped the plug back and forth ever so slightly.
"You like it don't you Bee," I said.
"Yes Miss!" she whispered.
"How do sluts like it, Bee?" I asked.
"Up the ass Miss!" she said, squirming with apparent pleasure.
"Your my little Thai slut aren't you Bee?" I demanded, getting carried away.
"Yes Miss!" exclaimed Bee.
I pumped the plug once more. For a moment I stroked her dripping sex, and she seemed closed to climaxing, but suddenly she stood up and said, "Miss, must get juice."
"Of course Bee," I said. "You certainly are eager to serve with a plug up your ass." She blushed in response.
As I read a glossy magazine, she prepared my orange juice. When she brought it to the table, I thanked her, and said, "You seemed to enjoy that Bee. I think I have big plans for you today."
Bee laughed, openly and happily, in a way I'd almost never seen her laugh. No modesty, just a free and easy, almost American, laugh.
She began to clean the kitchen as I finished the juice. Wild thoughts were racing through my head -- she was so turned on by her submission that I knew I could make her my pleasure toy for the day, or the week, or the month. Pushing modesty aside, I decided to touch myself in front of Bee right there at the breakfast table. As she watched, I masturbated and fantasized about her serving me sexually, tonguing me, kissing me, touching me, rubbing me, all the while with the plug firmly planted between her cheeks. I climaxed easily with a moan, and she seemed astonished by the display.
I felt exhausted and sleepy after climaxing; maybe I hadn't had enough sleep night before?
"Bee," I said, "I'm going back to bed for a while. Don't remove the plug until I come back out and I will remove it for you. You are not to take it out yourself under any circumstances. Do you understand?"
"Yes Miss," Bee giggled, and I could see she was flush with sexual tension. I stumbled a bit on my way into the bedroom, the room was spinning, and I decided that a nap was just what I needed, right away, so sleepy...
"Miss have pink asshole."
A voice giggles. Again, "Miss have pink asshole."
I'm groggy and confused, waking from what feels like a very deep sleep. I blink my eyes: where am I? I move my hand to brush my hair out of my face -- but I can't move my hand... As I wake up, I find I am restrained, face down on my four poster bed. My hands are pulled down between my legs and tied to my ankles, my legs are pulled up under my body, my face is in a pillow and my bottom is in the air. I am naked, hog tied, and dizzy. Behind me, I hear the voice of my Thai maid, Bee, laughing, "Miss have pink asshole," and she swats my bottom.
How did I get here? Why was I so groggy?
What was the last thing I did? Kissed her ass? No... plugged her bottom? No... drank the orange juice?
And then it came to me -- Bee must have slipped Rohypnol, the "date rape" drug, or something similar into my juice when she made it that morning! As with sex, any kind of drug is available in Patpong and Bee must have found some pills when I gave her the afternoon off yesterday.
I shook my head to clear the cobwebs, but that was about as much as I could move; I was securely bound with what felt like leather straps, and angry. I looked at Bee, and she stood next to the bed in her maid's outfit, but with a new addition: a huge blue strap-on dildo hung from her waist, peeking from beneath the front of her dress, lewdly swinging to and fro.
"Bee," I said, "stop this now! Untie me!"
But all Bee said in response was, "Miss, the plug."
"What Bee?" I asked.
She kissed me gently, and whispered in my ear, "The plug Miss."
She slowly turned, swinging the strap-on in front of her, lifted her dress, pulled down her thong, and stuck out her bottom. The base of the plug mocked me from between her cheeks. My words from earlier that morning came back to me: