Pimped in Bangkok

“He wants you to blow him and take his cock.”

“The colonel speaks English. He was talking to me in English out on the tennis court. Why are you asking for him? If he wants me to give him a blow job and let him fuck me, why isn’t he being brave enough to ask me directly? He knows from the looks we exchanged on the tennis court that he can have me.”

I didn’t mean that to be flippant. It just came out. I was actually nervous as hell and feeling the “out of class” here. There was a black bull of a U.S. Army major to my right in the shower, who was the one who had just addressed me, and a tall, trimmed down but hard-bodied Thai Army colonel to my left in the shower, who was proposing—through the American officer, for some inexplicable reason, although his wish was quite clear to me—that I kneel to him and blow him, probably right here in the shower room, and then lie down and open my legs to him. All three of us were stark naked. I’d caught the Thai colonel’s signal to the others in the shower to leave, and they’d done so. This was his army base. All three of us were in erection, but the two of them were older and more muscular and magnificent of body and better hung than I was. The colonel’s attention went to those leaving the shower, which gave the American major and me a moment to talk about this. In any case, I was going to be fucked. That didn’t surprise me anymore, though.

“Just go with it,” the black major whispered. “You and I arrived at the tennis courts at the same time and he thinks we came together. He needs to believe that I’m arranging this with you.”

“And so?” I said, even more nervous than before as both of the men were now moving closer to me. The Thai colonel had a hand on the small of my back. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t interested, because they could clearly see my hard-on. And I can’t claim I hadn’t done it before. I just hadn’t done it except for one guy on one night in the two months since I arrived in Bangkok, Thailand, in August of 1978, to teach social studies as the International School of Bangkok and to coach soccer there. I was twenty-three and just out of graduate school. I’d gone with men before, and preferred older men than I was, if they were in good shape. And these two were combat ready. I was a player, but I’d figured my teaching position abroad would force me to be very circumspect, if not abstinent altogether. These two older men, the major maybe in his late thirties and the Thai colonel in his early fifties, were nothing short of magnificent—better than I’d ever had before.

The American major was a hulking body-builder muscleman, broad of chest, narrow of waist, and gigantic of cock, with low-hanging balls. His thighs were as thick as tree trunks, his face square-cut, somewhat thuggish, but in an alluring “God, I’d like to try that out” way. His hair was black and kinky, cut short, like a Marine. I wasn’t surprised to find the major here at the Saturday morning tennis, as we’d discussed the tennis invitational when we’d first met. He’d been the one who fucked me a few nights earlier, and this was the first time I’d seen him since then. He was that one guy who had done so since I’d arrived in Bangkok—so he knew I would do it. And, not only that, but he’d also found that I was easy. It wasn’t hard to be easy for him. We’d met at a gay bar and he’d taken me to a sleazy small hotel room and worked me over magnificently. He’d remarked on how well I’d taken him, and I had admitted I was open to casual sex. I was only now learning that he’d had me invited me to Saturday morning tennis to use me.

In contrast, the Thai colonel, while hard bodied, was tall and slender, with aristocratic bearing and refined facile features. He did have a rigid military manner and cruel look about his face, which maybe was more a result of having an in-command position in a somewhat authoritarian country. Where the American looked like he’d be exuberant and forceful in sex, the Thai looked like he’d be methodical and cruel. They both looked like sex with them would leave me wiped out and exhausted, but in a different way from each other. Sex with the American major did leave me wiped out and exhausted.

“He is being polite,” the major had said before the Thai colonel came back to us. “Since you arrived with me, he thinks I am your pimp and that it’s my permission he needs to cover you. It’s natural that he would think that. I do that here in Thailand. I provide younger men for men in power positions—not for money. For favors, often to advance U.S. interests. The colonel here, Phichit Phaphon, is the commander of the Thai Military Academy here and a member of the Grand Army Council. He’s our host on Saturday mornings for our pickup tennis matches. Some of us come here because we are expert tennis players. Others come here to network and exchange favors on the national security level. I sometimes bring a young man here in pursuit of the latter activity. So, he’s asked me about you—he asked me to give you to him.”

“So, you are, in fact, pimping me to the colonel,” I said.

“Yes,” the major shot back, and he turned away from me to soap up. The Thai colonel was back and was feeling me up. So, according to the major, the Thai colonel already knew a lot about me and I knew a bit about him—most important that he was turning me on and that chances were very, very good that I’d let him inside me.

I’d come to Saturday tennis—or at least that’s what I’d thought—because I had done well in collegiate tennis and had been invited here by a political officer from the U.S. Embassy, close by the grounds of this military school on Wireless Road in Bangkok. I had to consider now that the diplomat had been motivated to give me an invitation because the major asked him to. I was told they both worked for intelligence offices. So did I on the sly when called up, as something called a NOC—a sometimes, as needed non-official cover agent. Both of my parents worked at the CIA and I had been cleared for “sometimes” duties when it became clear that I planned to take jobs, like this one at the International School of Bangkok, abroad. I had thought that being gay would prevent that work, but my contacts at the Agency had said that that actually would be useful in some operations.

As the embassy diplomat was driving us over to the military academy tennis courts, he said something strange to me.

“I’ve been told that you’re a NOC—confidentially, of course, but I wanted you to know that and that I’ve been told we could call on you to do some work for us.”

“OK, I understand,” I’d said. But I hadn’t understood it all.

“We know you have an arrangement with a JUSMAG major,” he said, naming the big, black bull of a U.S. Marine officer who was humping me.

Oh. “I wouldn’t call it an arrangement,” I said. “We hooked up once.”

“So far.”

“Yes, so far.”

“Want you to know he has something going at tennis and that he’s coordinated with us on activating your NOC status. We want you to do as he asks. He needs to have something done today at tennis.”

Oh, again. “OK,” I said, having no idea what was involved. It turned out that the Thai colonel, Phichit Phaphon who was involved.

* * * *

Colonel Phichit, imposingly taller than I was, slender, hard bodied, hung, was very close to me where the three of us stood under cascading water in a communal shower room where the colonel had invited us to get cleaned up after a morning of tennis. He’d moved to fondling my genitals. As a senior Thai officer in a military authoritarian country, he evidently thought he had latitude to do what he liked in this respect. Especially as an American military man was here and not shocked by the colonel’s forwardness, I didn’t feel in the position to resist. That and the man was a real stud. I had no reason to want to deny him.

He had gravitated to me on the tennis court and we’d played quite well as partners there. He was good at tennis; I was better and he’d been impressed. He obviously was impressed with me otherwise as well and was interested in playing well together as partners in another sense. He was rock hard, the bulb of his erection pressed into my upper hip. His hand had moved down my back onto my buttocks and an index finger had entered my crack and was rubbing across my hole. I wasn’t countering him, so he had every reason to think I’d let him enter me with more than just his finger.

“The colonel is a good friend to the United States,” the major said. “We’d like to keep it that way.”

Ah, in support of U.S. policy objectives. That was as good excuse to go under the man as any, I supposed.

“Just so you know, it’s because I want to,” I said to the American major in a low voice.

I turned to the colonel, went down on my knees on the tiled floor, slick with soapy water, opened my mouth over his shaft, and gave him suck.

When the Thai colonel was satisfied that I knew what to do with my mouth on a cock, he became curious how well I could take one inside me. He reached down, palmed my belly, and pulled me up, turning me to face the back tiled wall. Water was still cascading down on us from an overhead showerhead.

“Palms to wall, hips jutted out,” he barked, in standard Army tone. He could speak English perfectly—with a British accent. I don’t know how much of the exchange between me and the American major he’d heard, but as long as he was getting what he wanted, I guess he didn’t care. I was just an object of tension relief for him. He was arrogant enough to believe he could have what he wanted. For some Thai officials, maintaining good relations with the Americans was marked in receiving bottle of Johnnie Walker Red as gifts. For Colonel Phichit it was in being provided young men to fuck. I was up today.

I did as commanded, my legs spread and jutting out from the wall, my palms and cheeks pressed to the slick tiles. I yelped as he slapped me, not too gently, on the rump several times and then gasped as he went down on his knees, grasped my hips in his hands, and buried his face in my butt crack. I moaned as he expertly ate me out, one of his hands snaking around my hip, grasping my erection, and jerking me off.

When I had released my cum in a shot against the back wall with a jerk, the colonel stood, saddled up, mounted me, penetrated, and fucked the hell out of me. He was big, vigorous, cruel—and, it seemed, quite impersonal. Just getting himself off. He gripped my throat tightly, pulling my head back into his chest, controlling my breathing, and slapped me hard on the buttocks as he fucked me, and I wondered—with aroused curiosity, I am embarrassed to admit—how much crueler he be in a venue where we had more privacy. If we weren’t naked in the shower and he had access to a belt or a whip, would he lay into me with it?

The black major stood close to us, a hand on my shoulder. His other hand was on his cock, stroking it, and I looked at him with dreamy “I wish it were you” eyes. When I turned my face up to his, thinking we’d kiss, he stuck a beefy thumb in my mouth for me to suck on.

After palming my belly with one hand; grasping the hair on the back of my head with the other one, arching my torso back into his chest; and pounding away in my ass, the colonel came inside me. He wasn’t shy in his taking of me, no doubt still thinking of me as just one of the whore boys the American major had picked up to pimp to him. The major reached in, grasped my cock, and stroked me to another release while the colonel was fucking me.

This was 1978, before the AIDs crisis, but only shortly before, the epidemic coming to light in Bangkok in the early eighties and by way of an American embassy official; the male hairdresser he’d brought into the country ostensibly as the tutor for his children, the children who went right back to the states, leaving the hairdresser in Bangkok with a diplomatic passport; and the young Thai boyfriends the official added to his bedroom. By then, although still in Bangkok, I had managed to see the signs of danger and was using protection. On this day, though, in the showers at the Thai Military Academy, the presiding colonel loaded me up with cum, breeded me deeply, pulled out, grunted, slapped me hard in the buttocks again, and left the shower to dry off, meet his orderly at the shower room door, and march off to his office for some Saturday catchup work.

My unexpected services weren’t finished, though. The black bull U.S. Army major pulled me off the wall, turned my back to the wall, lifted me up, settled me down on his cock, hooked my knees on his hips, and fucked me. He was gloriously bigger than the colonel had been, younger, more vigorous, and, if anything, crueler in the fuck. Throwing my arms around his neck and pressing my face into the ebony hardness of his chest, I hung on for dear life, yelping at his cruel thrusts, loving every pain-passionate ravishing blow of it. He wasn’t sheathed either—in those days, for alpha men like the black major, condoms were for women to avoid paternity suits, not for other men.

I gasped, panted hard, and whimpered in the process of taking him in. Shit he was big inside me, and strong, and forceful. Was this what it was like to be taken by a black bull? I’d never had it this big inside me. I’d never been fucked by a black bull before the major. And breeded—I’d never been pumped so full of cum as this. This was glorious. Oh, fuck yes!

I was fairly swimming in cum after he and the colonel, combined, were finished with me.

The black major never was finished with me—not until the day he was rotated out of Bangkok years later. The Thai colonel, Phichit Phaphon, wasn’t finished with me either until after several more Saturday morning tennis sessions followed by fuck sessions.

“Well, you were a surprise,” the major said when we came out of the building where the military school’s gym facilities were.

“You knew I would take it,” I said.

“Oh, yes, just not as enthusiastically as that.”

“Is that a good thing?” I nervously asked.

He laughed. “Yes, that’s a very good thing indeed. You’re a sexy little spitfire.” He put his hand on my back at the base of my spine. “You’re one sweet little piece. And a natural golden blond. That’s a rare treat out here in Bangkok. And a nicely cut, tight little body and channel. It was fun stretching you. You were a perfect gift for the colonel.”

He was assessing me like I was a piece of meat. He was so cocky and self-assured to be baldly talking about my body like this. But I didn’t mind—it was arousing to be referred to in these terms; they obviously weren’t negatives from his perspective, and he’d played me like a violin. I’d offered no resistance whatsoever. I could still feel the stretch he’d put my passage to. I was smitten with him. He was a black god. My first black. They’d always scared me. He still scared me. I wasn’t going anywhere as we stood out on the stairs into the military school building until he released me and left me there. But he didn’t leave me there.

“I’ll drive you,” he said, moving his hand to my buttocks. “I’m Mike LeBeau of JUSMAG, the advisory group to our friends in surrounding countries. We’re headquartered here in Bangkok. We didn’t introduce ourselves the other night, at the Patpong bar.”

“You were finding me too easy then, I think—wanting only one thing from me.”

“Yes,” he answered honestly. “And you gave it to me without a fight.”

“I’m Aiden Pope,” I answered. “I teach at ISB—the International School of Bangkok.” I don’t know if mentioning where I worked and what I did there was a last-ditch effort of mine for him not to put me in danger by enslaving me sexually. If it was, it didn’t work.

You’ve already driven me—hard—was my thought. But not being anxious to part with him and already being under his spell, I accepted the ride. Even that early, all he would have had do was beckon to me and I would have happily—if painfully—ridden him. All thoughts of going abstinent with men now that I had a high school faculty job were out the window. Just two fucks—one a seriously in-heat gay bar pickup and one hurried and furtive fuck under cascading water in a tiled shower—and I was lost to the man—to the man’s cock. After fucking me in the shower, he’d pushed me to my knees and I had worshipped his monster cock with my hands and mouth while cleaning him off. He’d been impressed enough with the attention to have held my head to him while I tried to deep throat him and to have ejaculated again.

He’d muttered “You’re a keeper” then, and I only later realized what he’d meant by that.

As we moved toward the parking lot, he stopped, turned to me, and said, “When you were invited to shower here, and others weren’t, you knew, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I knew.” Or I strongly suspected. Most of us had played tennis bare-chested. I knew I looked good. The colonel looked good too. The American major looked like a god. I knew how the colonel looked at me, that he gravitated to play in the foursome I was in and then asked me to partner him that it wasn’t just my tennis play. He touched me as we passed each other on the court. I knew what he had in mind, what he wanted from me. I could see that he was hard in those tennis shorts. I was just ecstatic when he brought the major with him. “I hadn’t any of this in mind when I came here,” I said. “But, yes, I knew what the colonel wanted.”

“And that you’d provide it?”

“Yes. I know he’s important here. I’d like to continue to be able to play here Saturday mornings. I want to keep my tennis up.” I didn’t mention that the guy from the embassy had invoked my NOC status and told me to do what the major told me to do.

“Come looking like this next Saturday and you’re sure to keep a lot of the men up here. You have the colonel by the short hairs now. You OK with what happened in the shower? The colonel won’t leave you alone after that.”

“You think so?” I asked. “He acted like I wasn’t even there—that I was just a hole for him to use.”

“Oh, he liked you a lot,” the major said. “He didn’t use you up; he wants to spin you out. You OK with that?”

“Yes, I’m OK with it.” More than OK, since you were part of it, I thought. But I didn’t say that.

“Use me up?” I then asked.

“Sometimes he beats the guys while he fucks them so that they leave on a stretcher.”

“And you would have let him do that to me?” I asked.

“It’s the job,” was all he said, looking away. I looked away too.

When he started up the car, he didn’t ask me where I lived or where I wanted to go—and I didn’t try to give him a destination that would part him from me. The military school was located near where Wireless Road, its Thai name being Witthayu Road, originally named because it originally went between the British Embassy and the embassy’s communications antenna field—this before Bangkok had built out this far, ran into Sathorn Road.

He turned into Sathorn Road that went to the Chao Phraya River near the Khlong Toei waterfront. The living compound of JUSMAG—the Joint U.S. Military Advisory Group—located half way down Sathorn toward the river from the U.S. Embassy on Wireless Road consisted of four former houses, with stuccoed walls and red-tiled roofs and offering a dozen bedrooms, with baths, and assorted living and kitchen facilities, all around a large swimming pool. The walls of the compound were high enough to keep the noise in and the nosy out, and all the protection the compound needed was the burly body-beautiful hunks who served at JUSMAG.

JUSMAG was one of those billets the U.S. Army kept for its gay male servicemen who had distinguished military histories and/or powerful backers, the issue being one that was kept secret and in the closet in that era. Gay servicemen knew that and coveted being sent here, especially since it landed them into a paradise of “anything goes” that was Bangkok. Thai men were known to be bisexual, more interested in the act than in the gender of the partner. Thus, it was into a hotbed of gay hedonism that Major Mike LeBeau, nicknamed 10/2 because of the length and girth measurements of his monumental shaft, drove me to at noon on that Saturday. He gave me a cursory tour of the compound but then a hours-long workout in his bedroom. It didn’t matter that I’d already given twice at the office that day.

* * * *

He’s already exhausted me, but he wants to make his point—that he owns me. He rolls off me, adjusts the bolster under the small of my back that has my pelvis raised and rolled up, in position for a straight shot. My hole is dilated, yawning, pulsing, already reamed to his need. He’s insatiable. He’s already been inside me, thick, hard, strong, again and again. This is going on forever—gloriously forever.

Rough hands glide down my inner thighs, and I open them to him. He spreads my legs, bends them, and places my feet flat on the mattress, ready for the next assault. “Assault” is the right word for it. He took me nearly directly from his car to his bed, with only a cursory tour of the compound, passing muscled-up soldiers in various stages of undressed who gave me the eye and a little laugh, knowing what the fate of the new “chicken” was to be, and he herded me into his bedroom, onto his bed, and overpowered and ravished me. My cries of taking went unheeded other than an occasional head popping into the doorway to check out the new talent and to appreciate Mike’s technique. He didn’t ask me if I wanted it. He knew I did. He just brought me here and did it. It was an assault. I discovered that I melted to an assault by a big, black bull.

I leave my legs there, as he has placed them, exposing my nakedness, my yawning hole, to him. He rearranges my arms, stretched out in a surrendered, sacrificial, fully spread open and vulnerable pose. Panting, and looking worshipful at him, I leave them there. I am fully open to his need, his desires. I understand that he wants to know that I’ve been conquered—that I am fully open and vulnerable to him—that he owns me.

I know he’s going to fuck me—assault me—again—and again after that. If he wants to. I am in anguish, wanting him to want to, wanting him to take it all from me.

He stands below me, at the foot of his bed, looking down at me, smiling, surveying the mastering he’s already done, the assertion of his command and victory over me. His hand goes to my entrance, a finger penetrating me.

“You want it again,” he says.

“Yes,” I answer, not pretending that I don’t. I rock on the finger, acknowledging his newly established rights.

Do it. Do your worst. Claim your territory and master it again—forever.

He climbs back onto the bed, on top of me—a mass of bulging dark-chocolate muscle, magnificent cock fully erect again, throbbing. Shit, the man could recover quickly.

This time he takes his time.

Heart racing, moaning, shimmering with anticipation, as dark chocolate, beefy-fingered hands glide over resilient, young flesh. Trembling as they search for and explore curves and crevices, pausing at heaving pecs en route to the root of me.

Fuck me. Fuck me now.

Groaning as rough-padded fingers rub, and twitch, and pinch tender nipples. Arching my chest up from bed before the hovering milk chocolate monolith, rising to the inevitable. He’s going to fully explore my body this time.

Fuck me. Fuck me now.

Crying out as full lips find nipples and mouth opens around aureoles, closes tight, and gives suck. Melting at teeth sliding across engorged nipples. Opening mouth to gasp at the hint of a bite on a nipple, only to have heavy lips crush mine and thick tongue push in. Opening eyes to his, very close now, filled with desire, determination, insistence. His hand gliding lower, moving toward the goal.

The man isn’t just a big cock. Fuck me. Fuck me now.

I ease back on the bed, willing the tension to flow out of me, to relax my passage to be able to take him in one long, possessing slide, as he rises up below me. Breathless as I watch giant hands gliding across my body, slowly working their way to my center. Dark chocolate hands on soft, creamy belly and thighs, nudging. Mesmerized, I open my legs wider to him, raising them, pushing my pelvis up to him. Purring as hands glide around silky inner thighs.

Come into me. Fuck me now.

The hulking soldier sinks between opened, welcoming legs, grinning face dipping out of sight. Arching back and gasping again, as thick tongue rims, flicks in, and then invades. I gasp and moan. Grasping close-cropped kinky black hair, my immediate impulse to push away, quickly replaced with desire to hold his mouth in closer. Twitching to the dancing of the tongue. Big, thick finger snaking in, thicker than some men’s cocks, exploring, searching. Agony in the brief seconds found to center. Writhing as it finds the spot, tweaks, rubs, and quickens the flow. Panting, moaning. Can’t . . . get . . . breath. Electricity, sparks, release and flow. Low, hoarse laughter from between trembling legs.

Mooaaan.

Muscle-bound dark chocolate Army officer, with his jet-black monster cock and plump balls, standing between spread legs, his massive chest and arm muscles bulging and undulating, glistening in the strobing of light through the languidly moving blades of the overhead fan. A big grin on his square-cut face, capturing and placing my hands so I feel the awesome length and thickness—and the bulbous, purple-black cap and popped-out blue-on-black veins—of his hardened cock. Ten inches long hard, two inches thick. I’ve never had it this big before him. Fearful fingers getting the measure of the beast, all the more imposing in its blackness against his otherwise dark chocolate flesh, while he tells me quite clearly and graphically—and breathtakingly—what he is going to do with all that manhood and how much pleasure he is going to get out of me and expects me to get out of his cock—to the point of making me tremble in anticipation and having the added pleasure that, out of all those he could pick to fuck this day, he is here with me.

“You put it in this time,” he commands. I do, lodging the purple cap just inside my entrance.

Going up on my elbows, my legs splayed up and out, my ankles held in his big hands, and watching him first rotate that purple-black cap around and just inside the rim, entirely with the control he has over his hips and his hardened cock—no help with his hands. And then slowly, almost magically, making the pillar of power and strengthen follow its bulbous head and disappear inside me, me arching my back, trying to stretch to accommodate him and involuntarily giving him deep moans and groans of being stuffed. He stops half in, to listening to me panting and moaning and to give me time to stretch, and then, with a grin and a “Here it comes,” he buries the shaft several more inches, and I jerk and gasp and scream. My eye bug out, my mouth slacks open in surrender.

He pulls it back and then thrusts it deep. I yelp.

No, no; yes, yes, y-e-s. It’s too big; it’s the size I’ve always dreamed of. It’s splitting me; it’s stretching and filling me to perfection. I can’t take this; I can’t get enough of this.

“Yesssssss! Do it. Sink to the root. Fuck me!” I cry out.

He sinks to the root and starts to move in and out, in and out. Huffing and gasping, I put my hips into motion, going with him. We’re FUCKING! We’re fucking AGAIN! He wants me again. I am his and he is mine.

Cheek to sheets, I’m looking at the door out to the corridor now, where soldiers have gathered in the doorway to watch the master at work. All fit and muscular, gods of man flesh. All with their dongs out and sneery little smiles on their faces, working themselves and watching Mike at work, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting, as I dig my fingernails into his shoulder blades, slit my eyes, arch my back, my pelvis in countermotion, and convey through my thoughts: Its me. It’s me he’s fucking. Not you.

Bringing his mouth down to my nipples as he plows me, sucking and biting me there. My imagining I can feel the veins sliding against my passage walls as the cock journeys in to the quick of me. Even that other time, he was quicker than this, not fucking me as deep as this.

No man has been there before, not this deep, not in my spongy core. And then he’s standing up from me and repeatedly pulling his glistening jet-black cock out slowly to where I can again see the rim of the purple-black cap, and glides it back in to the root until he loses control and starts pumping me wildly. Showing that he is panting for me—at the height of his passion, dipping his mouth to mine and brutalizing my lips with his. His hands grabbing my hips, moving my pelvis with his thrusts. He cries out. Again the flood inside me, oozing out of me, bathing those black balls.

Catcalls and applause from the doorway. Most of the soldiers there pull away and move on. Two stay, fondling each other, to savor.

All of that throbbing inside me, hard for me, wanting to be inside me, and filling me repeatedly—followed by my insides being creamed yet again with his cum and him holding for a few minutes, young, virile, powerful, quick loading. Lying there, watching him go into his bathroom, pissing with the door open, his eyes on me lying there, stretched out on the bed, arm dangling off the side, a position of total surrender. Watching him, and purring.

The two guys in the doorway, frotting each other, shoot their loads, and disappear.

He’s still erect, standing at the toilet, shaking out the last drops. Incredibly virile. My dark chocolate black bull with the jet-black monster cock. My 10/2.

He struts out of the bathroom, mounts the bed, grasps and positions me, mounts me again, and then does it all again. And I’m able to take it, each time more slippery than the last because of the accumulation and mingling of juices. He turns me on his cock until he is close in behind me, capable of going even deeper inside me, and then fucks me again, holding my wrists with his hands, dominating me, killing me, another glorious death.

Shit, the man can fuck forever. Is this what black bulls can do? Mooaaan.

He shoots off every fifteen minutes or so for what seems like forever—I climax repeatedly as well, encasing that jet-black hunk of power and being encased by that dark chocolate rippling network of perfect muscle.

FUCK ME HARD!! FUCK ME DEEP!! FUCK ME FOREVER!!

Roll me over . . . in the clover. Roll me over and fuck me again.

I am his for wherever, whenever, with whomever he wants.

So, is this how pimps keep their prostitutes in line, I wonder. It would work with me. Maybe it will work with me. Mike’s talked about having several Thai officers to keep happy with the military business his unit has to do here.

* * * *

Early on Sunday afternoon he let me out of his bedroom in the JUSMAG compound and walked me, supporting me, to the swimming pool in the middle of the compound. There, he laid me on a lounge bed, taking a cushion from a nearby patio chair and placing it under the small of my back, to raise my pelvis and roll my hips up. Exhausted, cowed, and satiated, I let him lead me, looking longingly at him with my eyes.

The major lifted my legs, one after the other, bended and spread them, and placed my feet gripping the bottom edge of the lounge bed. He motioned for the other men at the pool, JUSMAG sergeants and officers sunning themselves on the lounge bed or swimming and playing in the pool to take their pleasure as they wished. One after the other, they left what they were doing, came to me, positioned themselves between my spread legs, crouched over me, fists planted in the cushion on either side of my chest, and penetrated and fucked me. Major LeBeau sat there next to me, hand on my shoulder, whispering what a good boy I was. When all of the men who wanted to fuck me had done so and returned to what they’d been doing before, the major picked me up, slung me over his shoulder, took me back into his bedroom, and fucked the shit out of me.

Sunday evening he had a tuk tuk, a three-wheeled Thai bicycle taxi, summoned to return me to my small apartment on Sukumvit Road, near the international school. As he helped me into the tuk tuk, groaning and sore but somehow exhilarated, he said, “The men at the swimming pool—”

“Whatever you want,” I said, cutting him off. Why did he have this need again for assurances that he owned me? I would do anything he wanted me to do to show him that he did.

Smiling, the last thing he then said to me was, “We have a dinner party to go to next Saturday night. Doctor Blackmore is a British surgeon here, but more important than that for us is that he owns a prominent Bangkok English-language paper, or his Thai wife does. She’s in the States on a shopping spree, and the doctor is lonely. He has a variety of tastes. We can always use good press.”

“Whatever you want,” I repeated.

* * * *

Doctor Burt Blackmore lived in a sprawling Thai-style home next to the Jim Thompson house on Soi Kasam San 2 on the banks of the Saensap Khlong. The polished teak house consisting of a series of pavilions and wooden terraces being floated on platforms a story off the ground to allow for the frequent flooding from the adjacent canal, or khlong, one of many that laced their way through Bangkok and made the city the Venice of the East, to flow harmlessly under the residence. The major and I arrived there as dark was settling in. We were first taken to a bedroom by a Thai male servant bare-chested and wearing a colorful sarong skirt. We were asked to dress the same and soon were so outfitted and taken to the dining pavilion, which was swathed in silk draperies, with piles of silk pillows set near a low-hanging teak table. We could tell that we would be sitting on the pillows. The doctor would be entertaining us in traditional Thai style, and this setting was perfect for that. The pavilion was lit by candles set on the table and around the room. Soft lute music played in the background.

Blackmore, big and heavy, glowering, and thuggishly, but attractingly ugly and in his early forties, was sitting on the bank of pillows at the low teak table. He too was wearing only a silk sarong skirt, revealing a thick, hirsute, but muscular chest. He was smoking a water pipe. With a sweep of his hand he invited me to come settle beside him and Major LeBeau to sit off to the side, at a separate small table. The table was set for a Thai dinner, but the centerpiece, within reach of Blackmore, surprised me and made me shiver. It was a very thick green jade phallus, with natural black jade veining running through it, providing raised ridges on the surface of the dildo. Next to it was a bowl of scented oil. I could smell the musky scent from where I was seated, close beside the surgeon, with the water pipe between us.

It wasn’t mentioned that I was to be the doctor’s boy toy during the evening. This obviously had been worked out beforehand with my pimp, the JUSMAG major. My job obviously was to give the doctor a good time.

With a smile and an murmured, “Enjoy,” he offered a tube running from the water pipe to me, the one given to me wider than the one Blackmore was using. I hadn’t taken too many drags off the water pipe before the drug began to affect me, putting me into a haze. I had never done this before. Blackmore obviously had and had grown an immunity to its effects, although it was clear that he wasn’t taking in as much of the drugged smoke as I was.

What happened next, before the dinner, I’d done before. He worked me with his hands and his lips, parted the sarong from around my hips to expose my buttocks, maneuvered me into position, and mounted and fucked me. I didn’t resist, not only because the major was sitting there, watching us, wanting me to cooperate and give myself to the man, but also because I was drugged and continually looking, with concern, at the jade phallus, wondering when it would be used—wondering if its dimensions rivaled the major’s natural ones, and suspecting they did. Blackmore didn’t use the dildo before dinner, though. He did establish, though, that I would give him what he wanted.

Speaking softly to me and urging the waterpipe on me, he used his hands to warm me up. With the major’s help, I’d put together answers to my life’s activities that didn’t expose my ISB work in Bangkok but that were still true. He was a surgeon. His hands were smooth and sensitive, and he worked me expertly. He also knew how and when and where to kiss me, spending time with my lips, my navel—and, eventually, my cock and passage entrance, as he heated me and broke any possible resistance down. There wasn’t any question that I was going to let him fuck me, but there was the possibility, at least in his mind, that I might try to resist how he wanted to fuck me.

I was on my back on the pillows, with him hovering over me, one arm encircling my waist, and tipping my hips up, when he used the other hand to untie, open, and flare my sarong, pull his erection out of the folds of his own sarong, and coax my legs open. He moved between my legs and I arched my back and stretched my arms over my head, moaning, as he entered me and fucked me in long, deep slides. I lay relaxed and comfortable in his arms, rocking with him in my drugged state, enjoying the fuck from a masterful, if ugly, man. He was neither appreciably long or thick, but he knew how to caress passage walls and make me feel his release of cum. I sighed for him, and it wasn’t an act.

The major sat off to the side, exposing his erection through the folds of his sarong, and slowly masturbating to the sight and sound of Blackmore fucking me. At length I saw Blackmore gesturing to the major to come over and he did, kneeling beside us, whispering encouragements to me and running his hands over my chest, worrying my nipple, as Blackmore clutched my hips below and pumped me. I sense by his jerky motions, deep thrusts, and heavy panting that Blackmore was about to come. The major pushed a thumb in my mouth and I sucked on that as I clutched the other man’s buttocks to me and rocked against his thrusts, my pelvis rolling in waves. It was all in slow motion, as I was under the influence of the drug in the waterpipe.

In my dreamy state I had no defense against enjoying this fuck, giving no thought to how heavy and ugly and old the man was who was on top of me. He had a cock and knew what to do with it. Completely unable to control myself and my response to having a man expertly using his shaft inside me, I weakly called out, “Yes, yes. Fuck me. Give it to me. Come inside me.”

Blackmore laughed and gave it to me. He tensed and jerked and came. I held him tightly to me, palming his buttocks and verbalizing my surrender with a long, “Ahhhhh.” He was a gusher, bathing my insides with cum, breeding me. After holding for a minute inside me, with after-ejaculation small spurts of cum, Blackmore rolled off me. He moved around to my head while, at his gesture, the major moved to below me, ran an arm around my back, flipped me over, brought me up to my knees, and brushed his sarong open to expose his erection. Blackmore settled my head in his lap, presenting his cock for cleaning and further such, as the major swung a leg over my rump, mounted me, thrust inside, and fucked me. He was longer and thicker than Blackmore by far so there was further stretching of my passage going on. I only appreciated later that this was by design.

If this had been all that happened with Blackmore, I would have been happy to come back to him again in the future. It wasn’t all that Blackmore did to me.

After a rest, dinner was served, with me partaking completely naked now and Blackmore still in his sarong. Dinner went without incident, with Blackmore alternating eating with fondling me and pressing the waterpipe on me at one table and the major eating at the other. Throughout the meal I eyed the green jade phallus.

When the dinner dishes were taken away by young male Thai servants in sarongs, Blackmore clapped his hands and a servant brought in a bondage harness and helped Blackmore put it on me. A leather strap going behind my neck attached at my wrists, capturing my arms bent and spread. Straps attached at my ankles ran up to my wrists so that I was immobilized, on my back, arms and legs unusable and my buttocks rolled up and exposed. Blackmore greased up the huge green jade, smiling and showing it to me. The servant popped a ball gag into my mouth and disappeared. Then the major moved over close to us to watch Blackmore take a half an hour to work my passage until the phallus could be fully sheathed and had stretched my channel. All the time my eyes were bugging out, I was vocalizing through the ball gag, and Blackmore and the major were smiling and enjoying the sexual torture.

“You’ll be glad later I opened you well with this,” Blackmore whispered in my ear as he moved the jade dildo in stretching waves inside me. I only later appreciated that this was so.

When the dildo was fully buried and had done his stretching work, the two of them worked together to move me to a bedroom and lay me on my back on a reclining chaise lounge. They removed the harness, but only to rebind me, spread-eagling me on the bed with my butt on the raised edge and my torso reclining down toward what usually would be the lower foot edge. My wrists were attached at the corner of the legs at the lower end of the chaise lounge with red scarfs and my ankles to the base of the legs at the higher end. They took the ball gag from my mouth.

“Hearing your responses will be an important part of the enjoyment of you,” Blackmore said. “Scream all you want. No one will hear you who might come to relieve you.”

I had considerable leeway in the give of the arm and leg restraints, probably on purpose, so that the two men could enjoy me writhing, which I subsequently did a lot of.

A young Thai male servant, clothed only in a sarong skirt tied at the waist, small, slender, and berry brown, came into the bedroom behind us, carrying the bowl of scented oil and two black, soft-leather gloves. As I lay bound on the chaise lounge, Blackmore hovered over me, pulling on the gloves and making a display of me seeing him do so. He was an expert of manipulating gloved hands, being a surgeon, and demonstrated that to me by working my body expertly, gliding over me with the soft leather, finding and exploring curves and crevices, making me writhe under his touch and melt to him.

“Yes, yes, yes. Fuck me. Put it in again.”

Blackmore laughed, dipping a gloved hand in the scented oil and grasping my erect cock in a fist and stroking me off. The major sat on the side of the bed. He’d pulled one of the Thai servants to him, holding him, facing Blackmore and me on the chaise lounge, between his spread thighs. He had one hand inside the folds of the young Thai’s sarong, obviously having found the youth’s cock, other hand cupping the young man’s left pec, and his face buried in the servant’s throat. The Thai servant had a dreamy look on his face.

With a cry, I shot my load under the ministrations of the oiled gloved hand, not the first load I’d shot that evening, leaving my balls aching with the challenge to continue to produce. Blackmore took this as the starting gun for his serious work with the hand. He ran his gloved hands up my inner thighs, coaxing me to spread my legs as much as I could, which I did. I even dug my feet into the carpet at the base of the chaise lounge and lifted my tail up, leveraged by the balls of my feet. The gloved hands became intimate and concentrated on working my cock and balls. The gloved fingers then flicked the rim of my passage and darted in and out.

“Shit. Fuck,” I moaned.

Across the room, the major was now fucking the small Thai servant. The servant’s sarong puddled to the carpet below and the young man was skewered on the major’s cock, LeBeau sitting on the side of the bed, the servant’s buttocks in his lap, the young man’s legs streaming back beside the major’s hips, and his torso cantilevered over the carpet. The major was grasping the servant’s wrists and pulling the young man’s arms tight, pulling and releasing as an aid to the thrusts of his hips as he fucked the young Thai.

Watching the major fuck the Thai servant while Blackmore was thrumbing the rim of my hole with his gloved fingers, I was overcome with need. “Fuck me!”

Blackmore laughed. “I’m going to fuck you with my hand,” he murmured.

Not fully understanding him, I repeated. “Fuck me. Fuck me now.”

He did so. Not the way I had anticipated, though.

The old man worked my entrance with an oiled, gloved hand, working one finger in and then two. The two fingers became three and then four, up to the knuckles. I was thinking of him putting my cock in when the fingers had fully heated me up, but he continued working me with his hand. Any more penetration and the fist would be inside me.

“Oh, shit. Not that. Not that way!” I cried out. But Blackmore was relentless with penetrating me deeper with the fingers.

“Yes, let me know how you feel,” he said. The tip of his index finger found my prostate and he rubbed me there.

“Shit! Fuccckkkk!” I tensed, jerked, and came in a nearly dry ejaculation; tensed, jerked, and came again, my eyes closed, unaware that Blackmore was in up to his wrist and that I was being fisted. I collapsed under him, both of us panting hard as I realized that he, indeed, was fucking me with a buried hand. I gave him all of the gasping, yelping, and screaming Blackmore could want as he fucked me. While he fisted me with one oiled-glove hand, he jerked himself off with the other one, standing over me and releasing his load on my belly when he came. The major continued fucking the Thai servant across the room.

As the shock receded, I realized that Blackmore still had a gloved hand inside me.

“Oh, fucckkkkk,” I whimpered.

“Now you know I was being good to you by opening you up with the jade dildo,” Blackmore said, and he was right, now I knew and appreciated that. I didn’t know what I wanted now—for him to take the fist out and give me relief or to fuck me with it, giving me a new experience. The fist was in. I was handling him. Blackmore decided for me. The major had finished with the Thai servant and had moved over to the chaise lounge, crouching beside me, placing his palm on my forehead, whispering encouragement to me. There was no question what the major—my major—wanted to happen.

“Again,” Blackmore muttered. I groaned but held steady for him.

The fist began to move, back and forth, in and out. He fucked me with the fist.

I struggled weakly against it at first, but, finally, giving in and lying there and whimpering as, penetrating up to his wrist, Blackmore worked me mercilessly. I yielded to the fist, beginning to move my hips with it, working with the fuck, moaning and groaning, but no longer screaming at the invasion. I had not only acquired a new experience; I was acquiring a new skill. I came for him again, and, excited by his fetish, Blackmore hardened as well.

Blackmore extracted the fist, moved behind me, between my spread thighs, hovered over me, murmuring, “Beautiful boy, so beautiful, so sweet, so yielding.” He mounted and penetrated me with his cock, and fucked me again to his own ejaculation. He and the major then removed themselves from me and went over to a small table where a servant had laid out drinks and some snacks. They partook of this, chatting between themselves and leaving me to pant and moan, still trussed up on the chaise lounge.

I heard Blackmore say, “Thank you, Mike. Thank you for bringing such a luscious, yielding young man to me.” I initially bristled at this. I was the one doing all of the work. The major was getting his pleasures as much as Blackmore was. But then I recognized reality. I had given myself to LeBeau—completely and willingly. This was how he wanted to use me. To be able to lie under him frequently, this was what I would have to do. It was worth it. I’d made my choice.

When Blackmore released me from my bonds, it wasn’t to let me clean up and leave the house with the major. With the major helping him, Blackmore lay down on the chaise and I was stretched out on top of him, facing the ceiling. He put me on his cock and held my waist in his hands as, pressing my hands and my feet into the surface of the couch, I raised and lowered myself on his cock. In a short time, the major was coming over me, positioning himself over my pelvis, his feet flat on the floor on either side of the chaise lounge. He positioned the purple head of his jet-black cock at my entrance, over the already buried cock of Blackmore, and entered me. The two men fucked me in a double penetration, as the major grasped my cock and beat me off to the rhythm of their shared thrusts.

I was able to take it after the session of being opened by the jade phallus and then fully opened by the gloved hand.

Driving away from Blackmore’s compound late that Saturday night, the major asked, “Was that OK?”

I have no idea what he would have done from there if I’d said it wasn’t.

“It was fine. Very exotic and arousing. New experiences,” I answered.

The die was cast for how he would use me over the next two years and what I would become from my life in Bangkok.

* * * *

Filled, stretched, worked, panting, and moaning. Possessed by the big jet-black cock, moving inside me. Faster, deeper, straining to take it, the muscles of my passage walls are alive, undulating over the thick, hard, black cock. Shimmering over it, clutching and releasing it, caressing it, as holding me tight in a missionary position embrace, the major moves deeper in my soft, spongy core. Possessing me, conquering me, slaying me. I surrender yet again—I always surrender to the power of the major—with a long sigh, relaxing, letting him in fully, becoming one with him as he thrusts, thrusts, thrusts.

Crying out in passion, my hand moves from his shoulder blades down to his buttocks. Clutching him there to me as he jerks and comes, jerks and comes, breeding me, conquering me, filling me with his warm cum.

LeBeau rolls off to me to the side. We’re in my bed in the small apartment near the international school campus. He carried me here, me moaning and exhausted, the previous night, put me to bed, and didn’t touch me again in the night.

It was late Sunday morning, and he has come to me in my bed. I receive him there, opening my legs to him, welcoming him inside me.

After he fucks me and rolls over to the side of me, holding me in his embrace, he whispers, “Yesterday. Was it really—?”

“Yes, it was fine. I told you that last night. New and different. Satisfying. As long as you . . . this . . . like just now.”

He pauses for a few minutes, fondling me and kissing me. He isn’t normally a kisser. I know he has something more on his mind. He is playing me, preparing me to hear something I may not want to hear. As long as he fucks me, I didn’t care.

“Next weekend. Detrich Gebhardt. He has an engineering firm here. It’s in U.S. interest to have the roads to the Cambodian border constructed to take tanks, if need be. He’s in his forties, a well-built German. Not a particularly good looker, but hung. He likes young men. A mean son of a bitch, though. A bit of whip work. Flogging.”

“Fine, next weekend,” I say after barely a pause. I am that much of the major’s slave. He is my pimp.

It is settled. The major is a pimp and I am his male whore—probably only one of several slaved to him. I don’t care as long as I am included. That is fine with me. It was 1978; I had just arrived in Bangkok; I taught social studies and coached soccer in my first job; I was addicted to black bull cock; and I was a male whore, justifying that by saying I was doing it in U.S. national security interests. The truth is that I melted to a hung man’s cock churning inside me and to kinky and taxing sexual demands.

Viva la gay Bangkok in the late 1970s!