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Archive-name: Affairs/singapr7.txt

Archive-author: Friar Dave

Archive-title: Singapore Girl - 7

     I heard the shower running and half-awoke, then fell back into 

an exhausted sleep. The windows were gray with the first light of 

dawn. But then I was again awakened. The windows weren't much 

brighter, but what woke me this time was wetness. To be precise, 

June had brought a basic on soapy water and was using a washcloth 

to clean my cock. (Remember where it had been last.) She was gentle 

and attentive with my tender dick and oh, so meticulous. There was 

still some soap film on my cock, but she took care of this. She 

disappeared for a moment and when she returned, she was carrying a 

bottle of white wine. She arranged a towel like a coffer dam around 

my dick and abdomen and used the wine to rinse me. As raw as my 

cock still was, the sensation stung and then tingled.

     And then the tingling got serious -- because June climbed up 

on the bed, knelt between my legs and started lightly sucking my 

limp schlong. Slowly, gently, she worked my dick in and out of the 

plush welcome of her hot, sweet mouth and soft lips. Nothing 

happened for a while, but then my prick started swelling in her 


     I managed the strength to reach down and tousle her fine, 

short black hair. She looked up at me from between her legs, her 

lovely eyes heavy lidded with lust and her lips distended about my 

thick cock. 

     "Come back here and cuddle me," I told her. 

     She finally interrupted her cocksucking -- but not for long. 

"You have given me such pleasure," she whispered, her breathe hot 

on my straining prick. "Now you lay back and don't move and let me 

give you a special treat."

     Special treat? What the hell did she think the madness of the 

night before had been?

     My cock throbbing redoubled and her cocksucking redoubled. 

From time to time she paused to pour more of the wine on my dick 

and then resumed her eager sucking.

     Then she stopped and sat back on her heels and said, "I 

remember you told me how you liked to see a slim girl fuck herself 

with a big dildo ... "

     SHe shivered, her hard nipples jiggling. Her throat and chest 

were turning red. "It makes me itchy to think of what I will do --"

     June rammed her cunt back onto the makeshift monster dildo. 

She got on all fours, reached down between her legs to heft the big 

thing into place against her cunt and then slowly impaled herself 

on it. I propped myself up on my elbows to watch inch after inch of 

that huge thing get swallowed up in her cunt.

     "Oh, darlingggggg...." she said and shook as the pleasure 

seized her. When she had reached her limit and what look like two-

thirds of the eighteen-inch prick were encased in her hot cunt, she 

rolled her hips around. Her clitoris was immensely swollen and 

stuck out at least a half-inch beyond her fine-haired cunt mat. 

     I couldn't resist. I wriggled slowly around till I was 

perpendicular to her on the bed. I had a great view of her profile 

-- her firm, taut tits topped by spiked nipples that looked ready 

to burst, her slightly rounded little belly heaving with pleasure, 

her tightly drawn ass curving down to her thighs -- and the big 

homemade dildo reaching out from her cunt like an extra, misplaced 


     She lay her head down sideways on me, pressing my cock between 

her cheek and my abdomen. "You see, my darling? I want to be the 

best at everything that gives you pleasure."

     She reached around with one hand and found the vibrator, then 

found a tube of K-Y that hadn't been squeezed flat. She emptied its 

contents on the eight-inch vibrator, then took it and reached back to 

put the narrow head against the same tight ass I had fucked just 

hours before.

     "Oh, it is too much!" she gasped as she pressed it slowly, 

steadily into her asshole. "I feel so full, so stuffed, so-- so --"


     Her eyes rolled up in their sockets till only whites showed. 

Less than an inch of the vibrator protruded from her asshole. She almost 

fell forward then, caught up in the sensations again sweeping through her 

insatiable young body. She had to relinquish her tenuous grip on the 

vibrator to catch herself, using both arms.

     Being a considerate fellow, I promptly reached out with my left hand 

and got my fingertips on the base of the vibrator. The tight, slick 

vise of her ass was slowly expelling it; I pushed it slowly back in 

just as she got her mouth full with my cock again and resumed 


     (A note to you, dear reader [and isn't that quaint?]: Even then I was 

using Eveready Alkaline Energizers, because even then, Duracells had a 

tendency to be imported from Taiwan or the Antilles or Bangladesh or 

somesuch. Not that those lands don't make good stuff -- not at all! -- but 

such imports tend to sit in Customs warehouse in containers in ports-of 

entry for .... oh, however long the importer feels like. After they are 

unpacked they get their "freshness" dating.  And the fuckin' things die on 

you at crucial moments. Not Eveready Alkalines; those babies are made here, 

in our country -- you've probably heard the name: United States of America 

-- and are fresh and long-lasting and stay, er, potent for hours! This 

concludes Friar Dave's Consumer Tips for the session. Now resume spanking 

your monkey.)

     She bobbed her head slowly up and down on my prick. To be honest, I as 

surprised I could even feel her lips, let alone her tongue or the insides 

of her cheeks -- yes, the insides: she was sucking so hard that the velvety 

wet flesh on the inside of her cheeks was rubbing the sides of my cockhead.

     All the time, mind you, I was letting the vibrator slip about an inch 

or so out of her ass and then slowly pushing the little buzzing bugger back 

in -- while she never stop rolling and rocking her hips on the immense 

rubber dildo impaling her cunt.

     And she was cumming -- of course.

     Then, abruptly, she stopped and looked up at me. "I am going 

to drink you dry."

     "I'm already dry, honey -- "

     "I am going to do it."

     I shook my head. "It'll take forever after last night -- "

     She paused to cum again, then: "Good -- I want it to last forever. I 

love sucking my darling's hard cock."

     She put her mouth back on my cock and then she did something that few 

women seem to know about. I've only known one other, and she was an ex-

hooker, who did it. Believe me, I've thought about it and I think I've 

figured it out. It sounds complicated -- hell, maybe it is -- but the 

effect is cataclysmic on a man's (at least, on this man's) self-control. It 

goes like this this:

     June dropped her head back on my cock. This time she got just 

the glans and maybe two inches of the shaft into her lips. She 

rolled her tongue against my shaft and flattened her tongue, 

creating,essentially, an airtight seal around my cock in her mouth.

     Then she sucked again, and pulled her tongue away and down -- slowly 

and powerfully. The closest analogy I can think of is the way a teething 

child will suck his or her thumb, using the tongue to increase the vacuum 

(which offers some semblance of relief for the poor strained gum tissues).

     But -- while June was doing that, she was also pulling her head back 

and inch or so at the same time. Suck, pull, return -- suck, pull, 


     After about sixty seconds of that, my balls didn't care how much 

overtime they'd but in the night before; they were ready to bogie.

     I started arching up at her even as she was arching up and back to 

try to drive the dildo deeper into her cunt and the vibrator deeper 

into her little ass. My arching up was fine -- but when I started 

to pull back, she delivered the final move. She grabbed my hips in 

both of her little hands and tried to hold my movements within that 

two-inch range she'd established and she began moaning.

     It felt like I was cumming forever. The jism seemed to float --

not flow; float -- out of me in endless ribbons of pleasure. My 

balls were drawn up so tight that they seemed to be trying to 

burrow back inside my abdomen. It seemed to last for hours, this 

exquisite, almost painful pleasure, but that's only because it was 

so intense that the orgasm literally left me drained and 


     When I recovered, it wa to the smell of fresh coffee and the sight -- 

and what a sight! -- of a freshly scrubbed, perky June carrying a tray 

with fresh java and a pair of cups. June was wearing a green silk kimono.  

(Yes, she was from Singapore, a place not known for a love of the Land of 

the Rising Yen, but June wasn't dim; she knew the kimono is the most 

comfortable garment devised by the hand of Man for just lounging ... and 

looking sexy in the process.)

     She saw me watching her from atop the thoroughly devastated 

bedcovers and put down the tray. Her lips were puffy and her eyes 

were shadowed and bloodshot.

     She sat beside me.

     "Oh, my mouth is sore and my back hurts and I ache down there and in 

back -- " 

     "From doing nice stuff."

     Her nipples were already hardening as she rested her hand lightly on 

my limp, sore dick.

     "And you are all tired out and reddened from fucking this nice tight 

Chinese girl. But -- "

     She pressed herself upon me. "It was wonderful, my darling!"

     I tried to reply in kind, but then those wonderful lips were 

smothering mine.

     Her birthday came three days later and that was the day I was going to 

give her the ring -- or offer, at least. It might seem as if after the 

night of debauchery, anything else would be a letdown, but it 

wasn't. If anything, it was even better. There were no walls, now, 

no barriers or secrets. Either could tell the other any desire that 

would shock or revolt. The wish my not be shared, might not be 

acted upon, but there was so much else that was good -- 

     And there was something not so good. Her birthday was the beginning of 

the end.

     After dinner at I. Angelina's, a terrific Italian place nearby (where 

the regulars were so delighted to see a hetero couple that they kept 

sending over drinks), we returned to June's lovely apartment. I gave her a 

birthday gift -- a very sexy nighty she'd been admiring in Mistress 

Mine -- and ws saving the Ring for later.

     She'd gotten a lot of cards for her birthday. They were on display all 

over the office area and in the living room upstairs. She had surrounded 

herself with them, as if to keep her warm despite the distance between 

herself and her loving family.

     The cards in the office were from business acquaintances and 

Jaycee colleagues. Those in the living room and dining room were 

from friends and neighbors. Those on the mantle in the bedroom were 

the special ones, she explained, and placed mine on in its place.

     "Do you mind if I look at these others?"

     "Go ahead," she called back as she started the water running in the 

shower. I knew she'd gotten cards from sisters and brothers and from a 

cousin, and I was expecting to find one from her boyfriend-boss.

     What I wasn't expecting was that it would be addressed to "My darling 

wife" and signed, "Your loving husband."

     She tried to tell me it was just his manner of speech -- but when I 

demanded to see her working papers and visa, she began to weep. By the time 

she handed them over, she was telling me it didn't matter.

     It mattered to me. Her official records didn't show her last name as 

the vowel-less, Singaporean name by which I knew her. They showed her last 

name as the same as that of the company's owner, and believe me, it was as 

Scandahoovian as they get. It listed her marital status as M and he 

was listed as her spouse.

     There aren't many things in this world that are sacred to me. A free 

mind. The word, "Love." Children. The Bill of Rights. Marriage.

     Yeah -- marriage. Two people standing up before the world and saying, 

"Listen up! For the rest of the only life I'm sure I have ... THIS IS THE 

ONE. No matter what." Unless the husband is in the room -- hell, in 

the bed -- saying, "Go ahead and make my sweet-heart feel GOOD!" I 

won't mess with a married or betrothed woman.

     No matter how much I care or how innocent I was in trusting her. No 

matter how fucked up their marriage or relationship may be or how 

strong it is -- I won't do it, not knowingly.

     I had to stand by my principle. I had to leave. And my principles said 

I couldn't even tell her to get in touch if and when she got divorced; 

that -- given what we had -- would have been a terrible assault on 

her marriage.

     So I walked out on the weeping, crying woman who had come to mean 

everything to me, the woman who seemed capable of repairing all the 

wounds, of healing all the scars, of making right everything that 

had gone wrong. I left the ring there, on the mantle. I hurt for a 

long time. If time heals all wounds in the way it is supposed to 

wound all heels, then I hope she got over me, as well -- only 

sooner. She deserved better than a stiff-necked throwback like me. 

     In a sense, I feel good for having had the strength to do the right 

thing, because if we don't do the right thing, then the wrong thing wins 

and we all lose -- big -- in the end. I feel good, because I can look my 

own reflection in the eye and know that when it came right down to it, I 

had what it takes.

     But when I look in the mirror, I don't see her beside me, with her 

impish grin and pug nose and playful mischief. When I look in the mirror, 

all I see is me.



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